


Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Dark Lord

by rubarbe9



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Asexual Character, Bad Dumbledore, Canonical Character Death, Child Abuse, Creature Fic, Depression, Multi, Other, Sane Voldemort, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2018-10-22 17:47:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 98,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10701996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubarbe9/pseuds/rubarbe9
Summary: After Sirius's death, Harry struggles to get on with his life and going back to the Dursleys' isn't helping any. As their abuse escalate to new summits, help will come in an unexpected form, and Harry is forced to take desperate measures in order to extract his life from the clutches of those who would like to manipulate him.On the other side of the war, a loyal servant has made a tremendous discovery about their lord. They set to right things before it's too late, but are they ready to deal with the consequences of their actions?





	1. The barbecue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello readers,  
> This is the first chapter of a rather long fic. I have a few of them written in advance, and I will endeavour to update at least once a month, but I make no promises. I am also looking for a long-term beta, so if you like what you read don't hesitate to contact me :)  
> Enjoy!

Tuesday, 25 June 1996, 7 am  
Smallest bedroom, 4 Privet Drive, Surrey

  
He really should get up. He knew it. But getting up seemed... so far away. Like something he might have heard about, or seen done, but never lived for himself. The problem was, he had to. Or he would get in trouble. No, thinking about trouble was a slippery slope: the mere idea tired him. Now, he would count to three, and get up. Easy, sit up, put your feet on the ground, push up, and there you are! One. Two. Three. Maybe to five... Four. Five. Still not moving.  
Harry was starting to consider letting sleep take over again. Yeah, that sounded like a sensible idea. Peaceful darkness, blanketing him.  
  
Loud footsteps on the stairs quickly dispelled the idea from his mind and reminded Harry of why he had to get up. Right, the Dursleys' breakfast. Reflexes kicked in and sent the boy scrambling for his clothes and out of the door in less than a minute. Luckily for Harry, Vernon was not down yet. Petunia glared at him and motioned Harry to take over the breakfast preparation.  
The smell released by the bacon and eggs as they started to fry hit his nostrils and a wave of nausea crashed down on him. Fantastic. Not for the first time since he came back to the Dursleys, Harry was glad that the only food his relatives deemed him worthy for was dry bread. He was not sure his stomach would be able to deal with anything richer than this simple fare and refusing food from his relatives was a big no go.  
  
  
The thunderous steps of Vernon wallowing down the stairs reverberated through the house as Harry set the service plates on the table. He quickly poured his uncle's coffee and his aunt's tea, before fetching his list of chores from the counter.  
Dudley's breakfast, of course. Like every morning, "11 o'clock" was scribbled next to that line in angry red, as if Harry was liable to get engrossed about some other task and forget about it. Weeding. Ok. Painting the garage door. He had done that the previous week already, but why not. Cleaning the gutters. That one would be tricky. It required focus, less he fell from the roof and break something, and focus was not exactly coming easy right now. Not when his life had taken on a foggy quality since Sirius's death. No, no, NO, no thinking about it. Weeding. Weeding was peaceful, repetitive movement. He could do it.

  
••••••••••  
  
Sunday, 7 July 1996, 11.40 am  
Vernon Dursley's car, Surrey

  
Another bleak day to come. Even this crack in his routine did nothing to pull him out of the fog he was drifting in. Harry had been there for two weeks and he didn't feel sad anymore. In fact, he didn't feel anything anymore. All those emotions that had been tearing at him for days, the intense sadness, the ever-present feeling of inadequacy, the gnawing self-loathing, the unabating dread, this feeling that the world might be a better place without him... He had finally managed to suppress them, squash them in a trunk dead inside his mind and lock the lid. He didn't feel. He didn't exist.  
That was not as comforting as he would have thought. The sensation was more like being lost forever in that moment between sleep and wakefulness, at the edge of a nightmare already forgotten. It was as if he had shut his vitality away with rest in the box. Or rather, as if his energy was being syphoned away by the padlock of the trunk. Leaving him a ghost in his own body. Having envisioned something like the floating sensation of the Imperius, replacing his worries and thoughts by a hazy, light happiness, he was quite disappointed. Except disappointment was secured away with the rest, leaving him with only a shadow of the emotion.  
He felt weak. Every movement was costing him so much. The constant queasiness and the cotton that filed his head were making him slow. He struggled all the way through his chores, every day, and it impacted on the amount of food he was given by his family, weakening him further. He was a good little soldier, though. He kept waking up in the morning and doing his insufficient best, in order to still be alive when the Order of the Phoenix came to fetch him. He had a duty to the world, after all.  
  
  
He was leaning against the door of his relatives' car, looking at the scenery to block out his uncle's spluttering rant. They were on their way to a company barbeque organised by Vernon's boss, Mr Jarvis. Of course, no one in the car, Harry included, was even remotely happy about the fact that he was joining the party, but the Mr Jarvis had insisted. Heavily. That was what Vernon was raving about. According to Vernon, his boss had a personal vendetta against Vernon and intended to make sure no one in the company remained ignorant of the fact that Vernon Dursley's nephew was a delinquent. A freak.  
Harry thought it rather unlikely. He remembered the man in question, having gone to primary school with his elder child, a talkative girl named Abbey. He was a benevolent and generous man, who occasionally gave Harry a cookie or a sweet when he came pick his daughter up and the small boy was waiting in the schoolyard for Dudley to finish his extracurricular activities. Now, though, he didn't seem so kind to Harry, who would have much preferred to stay locked up in his room with a piece of stale bread.  
Vernon was still raving about Mr Jarvis and his multiple flaws when he parked the car. His favourite piece of scandal about his boss was the apparition in his life of a baby girl a few years back... when his wife had not been pregnant. In addition to this, the baby was dark skinned. Bringing a dark skinned baby into his home, to his wife, the man had no shame, really... They had been the talk of the company for months. The woman had to be a saint to take in and raise the child when it would remind her of her husband's infidelity and improper acquaintances every minute of the day. Like them really, saddled with their own freaky charity-case. Except unlike the sinner Jarvis, they had done nothing to deserve their load.  
  
  
The barbeque party was taking place in Vernon's boss's backyard, a respectable area of pristine grass, complete with a hedged fence and a garden shed. It was already overflowing with happy proper families, the working-husband-stay-at-home-mother-two-children-and-a-dog kind of family. The exact kind of family the Dursleys would have been if, instead of being burdened with their freak of a nephew, they had raised another baby-whale. Well, not the dog part, to be honest, because his aunt would have never abided dirty paw prints on her pristine floor, but you get the idea...  
Harry managed a strained smile when they shook hands the hosting family.  
  
"Ah, Dursley, welcome, welcome! My, Mrs Dursley, you are charming! And what a... healthy boy you grew up into, Dudley. Oh, this must be young Harry. I'm sure you remember Abbey over there, she was in Dudley and Harry's class. And this is my little princess Margaret. Come, come, Dursley, I want you to meet Smither..."  
  
Putting his money where his mouth was, Mr Jarvis promptly led Vernon away. Petunia dragged Dudley in their wake to greet some acquaintances, ignoring his longing looks toward the food tables. Harry was left facing with Abbey and her little sister. Abbey looked him over and frowned.  
  
"I really have no idea why my father thought I would enjoy seeing you again. It's not like we were friends before, were we? Looks like you are scrawnier than ever, you really should work out some, you know. No proper girl will want you, looking like that."  
  
At that, she threw her nose up in a manner reminiscent of Malfoy and turned heels to join Mrs Jarvis. Charming. Only little Margaret remained between him and the possibility to find a quiet spot and disappear. The girl was peering at him with her head leaning to the side. Something about her felt familiar, apart from her marginal physical likeness to her sister.  
  
"My dad said you go to a special school."  
  
Harry was surprised by her statement. Maybe Vernon had been right about his boss's intent. But what was he supposed to say to a seven or eight years old child, when the cover story was that he went to a school that was basically a prison for juvenile criminal, where physical discipline was the norm. He settled for a minimal, noncommittal answer, planning to evade the conversation quickly.  
  
"He is right."  
  
"He said maybe I have to go to a special school too. I'll know when I get eleven. That's in four years. I hope I do. I hate Eileen. She says she is my mum now, but she untied the braids Mum did because she says I look like a savage with them. She even burned me with the hair straightener this morning so I would look  _proper._  And I can't eat sausages because she is afraid I'll dirty my dress. Dad said I would go live with Mum if I get into the special school. Because she can help me better. My Mum is a very smart woman you know? She knows all kind of stuff, and she has this huuuuuuge library with all kind of books. I'm allowed to read up to the books on the third shelve, now! I really like books. Daddy and Eileen are always arguing about it, cause she thinks it's not proper for a little girl to be reading all the times. But Dad says I need it to go to the special school. I don't care about proper anyway, I'd rather be smart! What kind of book do you read in your special school? I hope mine teaches Poe, it's my favourite!"  
  
"Err. We read technical books. Special schools are all different, because they are that... Special. Yours will probably be very different from mine."  
  
A shout caught their attention, cutting the conversation short, to Harry's relief.  
  
"Margaret! Stop pestering our guest! Come here, young lady."  
  
The girl threw him one last look as if to say "I told you so.", before running to her stepmother's side. The woman was scowling at him. Her mouth was pinched and he got the distinct impression that he was her problem, not Margaret. Quickly checking that his uncle has not caught the exchange, Harry moved toward the back of the garden, to sit on a log against the shed, as far as he could from the party.  
  
  
He might have dozed off a bit because the next thing he was aware of was children cheering loudly not far from him. An inflatable pool had been set up in front of the shed, and the kids were running around in their swimsuits, shrieking in rapture and spraying each other with a hose. The adults were gathered around the barbeque, throwing warm glances in their offspring's direction now and then.  
Feeling thirsty, he stood up and made his way to the drinks table. Vernon threw him a warning scowl, but otherwise, no one paid attention to him.  
  
The little Margaret was the only one not joining in the childish fun. She was pouting, stuck at Mrs Jarvis's side, her stepmother firmly holding her hand.  
The pout shifted into a glare when the woman slapped her hand away as she reached for a cream puff. A few moments later, the sleeve of the spoilsport's elaborate dress caught on fire. She had a split second of pause, of disbelief, before she screamed and started shaking her arm violently in an effort to kill the fire. Everybody's attention was suddenly on her.  
In a stroke of bad luck, Dudley was the first one to react. He grabbed the bowl of punch and threw its content on the poor woman, further ruining her dress and stimulating the flames. Much more sensible, Harry, who was the closest to the pool the children were playing in, dashed for the hose which had been abandoned at the first yell. He directed it on the hostess, drenching her and efficiently quenching the flames.  
A flustered silence settled on the scene, quickly broken by an enraged Vernon, who stormed toward Harry. Grabbing him by the ear, he started dragging him back to the car, mumbling about ungrateful freaks and baby that should have been left out to die. A shriek stopped him before they got too far. Eileen Jarvis was pointing at Margaret in a theatrical manner. The small girl looked imploringly at her father, fat tears rolled down her checks.  
  
"It's her! I know it, Donald, she did it! She will be the death of me! And you!", she turned toward Dudley, who was taking advantage of the fuss to stuff buffet sausages in his mouth. "Are you in league with her, or merely idiotic?"  
  
Petunia, outraged by the slur against her little pumpkin, opened her mouth to fly to her to his defence, but Vernon was quicker than her.  
  
"How dare you accuse our Dudley. He only tried to help, didn't you, son? If someone is to blame here, it's my delinquent of a nephew... In all nasty tricks, that one, he is! But no worry, he will be properly punished when we get home..."  
  
The crowd was watching, enrapt, as Vernon Dursley and Mrs Jarvis engaged in a shouting match, each trying to prove that their detested charge was guilty of the incident. Mr Jarvis was trying to calm Margaret's cry but to no avail. Harry, still held by the ear by his uncle, felt slightly overwhelmed by the situation. Now that he thought about it, there was no way it was an accident, the barbeque being too far away from her for a spark to reach her sleeve.  
The accused kid had just been reprimanded when it had happened. That, the familiarity and the special school discussion for before... Maybe he was reading to far into things, but what if it was accidental magic? What if she was a Half-blood, whose mother was a witch... Her step-mother obviously wasn't too sweet on her. From there, there was only one step to abuse, with fear of difference as a motor.  
Harry knew he was already in trouble, no matter the conclusion of the argument. Even if he had done nothing but help, Vernon would stay convinced he had deliberately set their hostess on fire. Might as well take all the blame, so Margaret could get away with it...  
  
"It's me, I'm sorry. I wanted a drink, I bumped into the barbeque and it sent sparks. I apologise, I really didn't mean to cause trouble."  
  
He hung his head, trying to look remorseful. Vernon's face took on a smug appearance while Eileen Jarvis surveyed him suspiciously. Deprived of her victory, she fell back on her second victim.  
  
"Well, it's an accident, I guess. Your son, on the other hand, that fool is a menace. And a pig. I'm sure he fed the fire just so he could steal food during the commotion. Look at him"  
  
Again, the dramatic finger-pointing. Dudley froze, the bone of a BBQ rib sticking out from his mouth.  
This time, nothing and no one could have stop Petunia from having a go at the shrew.  
  
"My Dudders is a growing boy, he needs his food! And what do you know about education? Like you have time to teach your daughter how to be a proper lady when you have to keep your husband from visiting whores and to...", she faked a cough, "educate the consequence of his infidelities..."  
  
Vernon was already dragging him away, but as the altercation went up one level, defending his wife and son became more important than putting his freak nephew away. He shoved Harry on the path back to the car with an order to get himself inside the vehicle and stay put and waddled back to the confrontation. As he walked back to the car, Harry could still hear the two hysterical women spew insults on each other's children. He was glad for the small moment to himself. No doubt the reprieve wouldn't be long, but he appreciated it none the same...  
  
The ride back was glacial, Vernon's driving chaotic. No one dared make a sound; not even Dudley, not after his father nearly sent them into a tree when he whined getting sick from the movement. The moment they were home, Petunia and Dudley disappeared upstairs. Vernon didn't even bother with the usual tongue lashing and let his fists do the talking for him.  
Harry slept on an empty stomach that night, locked up in the cupboard under the stairs. His uncle refused to let him out the next morning, not even to cook breakfast or do his chores. Harry guessed that he would be dealing with the repercussions of the barbeque drama for some time. Yet, the punishments that awaited him were far worse than anything he had imagined.


	2. The aftermath

Monday, 8 July 1996, Unknown hour  
Cupboard under the stairs, 4 Privet Drive, Surrey  
  
Harry was dragged from his light slumber by the clamour of a car parking in the driveway, quickly followed by the banging of the main door and heavy footsteps. From the light filtering under the door of his cupboard, Harry knew it was still day time, probably early afternoon. Something was wrong. He curled up as far as possible from the door. Please, please make it so he was not blamed for whatever had happened.  
The footsteps stopped a few centimetres from him and the door was torn open. Blinded by the sudden light, he could only make out the shape of his uncle. But he didn't need his eyes to hear Vernon's short and heavy breaths. Or to smell the rancid smell of alcohol invading the confined space of the cupboard. He drew his knees tighter to his chest in a desperate and absurd hope that the Vernon would not notice him.  
As his eyes got used to the light, he noticed the clothes in disarray, the sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. The perfect image of a dishevelled drunk... He was so in for it!  
  
A pudgy hand reached for him. Harry closed his eyes and tried to think about Hogwarts and every happy moment he had lived there.  
  
  
When he was finally shoved back in the cupboard that night, Harry cried for the first time since the night at the Ministry. All the tears he had held back at school and then at the Dursleys, for fear of seeming weak, and because he knew they wouldn't bring Sirius back... He didn't have the strength to keep they inside anymore. He wanted them gone, wanted to purge them from his body, and with it all his suffering. They kept coming, spouting from deep inside him, overflowing, crushing the dams that had been holding them into powder. The first ones had been slow and seconds apart, shy almost, but soon enough a continuous stream fell from Harry's eyes. He tried to stop them, pressing his tightly closed fists to in eyes, but to no avail. His throat was starting to burn and his nose was clogged with snot. He couldn't breathe, his chest was heaving erratically, sobs rattling his slim frame. In the dark, with tears blurring his vision and blood pounding in his ears, his world was only pain and grief.  
He cried because it wasn't fair for Sirius to fall through that Veil. Because he grieved for his father, that he did not remember, and for his mother, of which he only remembered the death. For his childhood, lost in abuse and scorn. He would never be the hero everybody expected him to be. He would never be worthy of his name, never be worthy to be a Potter, to take on the mantel as the last heir to an ancient line. Worse, so much worse, he was failing his parents. They had died for him, died so he could have a life, and he was wasting that life away. He would never be an Auror like his father because he wasn't capable of pulling a decent potion together. And he didn't even know enough about his mother to emulate her...  
It was so very unfair that he had had to grow up in a family that hated what _he_ was, all because a lunatic who hated what _they_  were had killed his parents. Wasn't fair that Hermione, brightest witch of their generation, would be constantly hindered by her blood in the Wizarding World. Or for little Margaret to be raised by a racist bigot who would probably fly off the handle when she discovered that her step-daughter was a witch. He was crying for Remus, feared and shunned because of something he couldn't control. He wasn't even dangerous out of the new moon! Crying because the world, the people, Muggles and Wizards alike, bled intolerance and prejudice from every pore. How could he find the strength to live in such a world?  
From this intolerance thrived war. Destruction of families. Crushing of happiness. So many victims... His parents, his godfather, Cedric, Neville's parents, Quirrell... Dead, or not much better. And leaving behind parents, siblings, children, children like him, who would grow up hating one side or the other, bringing more devastation in their wake. What future did they have, the young generation? And Harry, what could he look toward to, when even Dumbledore relied on him to rid their world of the threat everybody shied away from... They wanted him to save the world, but who would save him, ah! How was that fair...  
No, he would die alone, in this cupboard. He was sure of it. His uncle Vernon would stop at nothing else than his death. But first, he was going to make his nephew suffer. He had promised Harry that he would come to bitterly regret the day the fool headmaster of his freakish school left him on their innocent family's doorstep. As if Harry didn't already regret that day, had not done for years...  
  
At some point, he realised his tears had run out. He felt empty, tired, shaken. He shifted, trying to find a better position. The threadbare sheet he was lying on caught the lacerations on his back. Merlin, it hurt! He resisted passing his hand on his back to check the wounds: he knew his skin had been broken multiples times, and the grim covering his fingers probably wouldn't do them any good. He considered turning over on his stomach, to relieve his back, but his ribs hurt too much.  
Scenes from the afternoon were swirling over and over in Harry's mind. His uncle had caught him with his feet several times before Harry managed to curl up and protect his fragile torso. Not that it had stopped Vernon from punishing him, the belt lashes all over his back, arms and legs were proof enough.  
Vernon, holding him by his throat and shaking him in front of his beloved wife and son, imparting the news of his dismissal. A dismissal Harry was, of course, responsible for, playing his funny tricks at the company's party. His uncle had assured him he would pay for it. He would get no more food, no more showers, no more of Dudley's cast-off clothes, Nothing, for as look as it took Vernon to get another job. There, Petunia had weakly objected that they couldn't kill him, could they? That the other freaks would want him back at the end of the summer. At that, her husband had replied that they had never meddled before, and they'd better not start now. As if to demonstrate his point, he had let go of Harry, and while the teenager was trying to catch his breath, he had taken off his belt.  
Harry felt ill just remembering about it. The Dursleys had always been quick to punish him, but they abhorred touching him, afraid that his  _freakishness_  might be contagious. Sure, he had received his fair share of whacks on the head, and Petunia was swift to use the frying pan when he burned their meal, but the belt... That was a first.  
After the beating, Vernon had forced him to do his chores, relishing in his hisses of pain. Dudley had lurked about, throwing skittish glances to both his father and his cousin. He had seemed quite upset, but Harry could fathom whether it was because of his father's layoff or violent behaviour. Petunia, her, had made herself scarce as soon as possible, only coming back in time for dinner and the end of another round of belt taken by Vernon on Harry's back, during which Harry had also collected a few nasty bruises on his chest.  
His sick uncle had really enjoyed the whole process far too much. The only reason he was back in the safety of his cupboard now was that Petunia had insisted for them to share a "family evening" before she took care of her poor, overworked husband. He could hear them now, comforting Vernon and reassuring him of their continued love and trust... Not in those words, of course, it would have been too vulgar and plebeian, but Harry was pretty sure those were the messages they were trying to convey.  
He was suddenly crushed by the realisation that this family would never love, or even like him. No matter what he did. Vernon was too wrapped in his own hatred and fear of everything that was different. He truly believed that his way in life was the only proper, acceptable way and anyone who moved apart from it deserve at best scorn and at worst a painful and humiliating death. Petunia was not as undiscerning but jealousy ate her away. Anything she could not have, she was envious of. Which was probably why she revered her husband, her protector and provider, so much, and why she spoiled Dudley beyond measure. Dudley... Well, Dudley had only grown up to be the bully his parents had cultivated. Harry did not feel the same deep-rooted malice in him as in Vernon and Petunia. Still, the only things he liked Harry for were as a house-slave and a punching ball. There was no hope his last relatives alive would ever, ever care for him.  
Obviously, Harry had been rationally aware of it for quite some time, but now, now, it seemed like he had no other choice but to acknowledge it, and it felt like he had lost something. It was stupid, of course, because how can you feel the loss of something you never had? The tears were coming again, not of grief this time, but of mourning. Silently, ignored by the people that should have been his family, he cried himself to sleep.  
  
  
The soft noise of the locks to his cupboard being opened woke him up. Surely Vernon was sleeping his drinks off? Harry didn't move, didn't even open his eyes, he was too tired, and resisting wouldn't do him any good...  
  
"Harry? Are you... Are you ok?"  
  
Surprise made him sit up quickly. There, crouching in front of him and not quite fitting into the door frame, was his cousin, aiming a flashlight at him. Blinded by the crude light of the torch, Harry could only make out his shape, but his voice sounded more hesitant than usual, almost apologetic. Dudley held out a bottle of water and a white box.  
  
"There. I nicked some Tylenol from the bathroom."  
  
"Err, thanks."  
  
Harry was startled by Dudley's gesture. Clearly, Vernon and Petunia's poisonous influence had not completely ruined his cousin's ethics.  
He was reaching for the pills when they both started at the cracks of someone walking on the floor parquet. Jumping at the sound, Dudley was thrown off balance and landed heavily on his bottom. The footsteps paused, then started again, much quicker and louder.  
Dudley was still fumbling with the multiple locks on the cupboard door when Vernon reached the bottom of the stairs.  
  
"Dudley? What are you doing here?"  
  
The man sounded shocked to find his son in front of the cupboard, probably expecting Harry to have escaped from his prison by some freakish trick. To his credit, Dudley tried to make up a lie to explain his presence, but unfortunately, wit had never his  _forte_. Stuck in the dark, Harry couldn't see what happened next, but the noises were more than enough for him to understand that the unthinkable was occurring: Vernon was yelling at his precious treasure, the blood of his blood. The bellowing diatribe normally reserved for Harry was now tearing Dudley apart, a traitor, consorting with the freak, such a disappointment, wasted money, hurtful words spilling unrestrained. Frozen in the dark of his cupboard, Harry listened to the swearing, a resounding impact of a body against the wood panelling of the stairs, sobs, angry slurs from Vernon, the shrill protests of Petunia who had been woken up by the commotion... Strangely, while for once the teenage wizard was not the victim of his uncle's ire, but he felt like he had fallen down one level deeper in hell.  
Finally, Vernon's fury deflated. A stunned silence fell over the family, broken only by the occasional snuffle from Dudley. After a few tensed minutes, Harry heard Petunia and Dudley move back to the floor, quickly followed by Vernon. None of them spoke.   
Taking two painkillers with some water, even if he was pretty sure it wouldn't help much with the pain from the beating, Harry settled back on his cot. As sleep eluded him, he wondered what other odd event fate had in store for the next day...  
  
••••••••••  
  
Thursday, 11 July 1996, 11 pm  
Cupboard under the stairs, 4 Privet Drive, Surrey  
  
The rest of the week unfolded like nearly usual, chores and scorn, with the notable exception of the absence of Petunia and Dudley. After Vernon had taken his anger out on Dudley, his aunt, frightened by her husband's violence and the fact that Dudley was apparently not immune to it, had decided to take her son to meet an old Irish friend of her, who had two boys of about the same age as Dudley. From the comments she had made when she thought the boy was too far away to hear, Harry suspected she had given Vernon some ultimatum...  
Another notable change was the new evening routine. When Vernon came back from his fruitless job search at the end of the day, already smelling like tobacco, sweat and beer, Harry would serve him dinner. During the meal, he would drink himself stupid while finding fault with everything Harry had done during the day. Afterwards, Vernon would proceed to beat Harry up with anything that caught his fancy that night: his belt, a shoe, the fire poker, Dudley's ruler... The louder Harry's cries the better.  
Four days of this treatment and Harry's skin was littered in bruises, so much that it had globally turned to a dark purple hue, with greenish blotches. At least one of his ribs was broken, from one episode where Vernon had stumbled drunkenly on his nephew's prostrated form after a beating and his left hand was swollen and pulsing. At first, there had been only the pain, but now the dizzy spells from hunger were getting more and more frequent. He also couldn't get rid of the constant ringing in his ears, though he was not sure if it was because of the hits he had taken to the head or because he was starving and thirsty.  
He was lying in the dark peace of his cupboard, wondering whether he should try to escape. He didn't think he would live to see his birthday if he stayed. And while he had thought about dying a few times since Sirius's death, death seemed horribly terrifying, now that it was knocking on his door. He probably wouldn't be able to make it farther than the end of the street, in his weakened state. But he didn't need too, as long as he could convince a passing-by car to drive him to the hospital. The problem was, would he be able to before Vernon, or a Death Eater found him.  
Dumbledore and Moody had said the Order would be keeping a lookout on the house, but they obviously weren't, or they would have intervened. They would, wouldn't they? Harry didn't want to contemplate the alternative.  
But if the Order wasn't watching the house, there was a high chance that the Death Eaters were. Maybe he could beg them to kill him? He was afraid to die, but he was even more afraid of living if it meant several more weeks in his uncle's tender care. Surely Bellatrix could be persuaded. It would come at the cost of a few Cruciatus, but it wouldn't make much difference.  
But what if it was someone else. Someone who wouldn't want to antagonise their lord just to have some fun with the Boy-Who-Lived? Someone who would apparate him to their Lord the moment he left the relative safety of the blood wards? He wouldn't stake his life on the fact that Voldemort would kill him on the spot, this time - no pun intended. No, the lunatic Dark Lord was much more likely to draw out his agony for as long as he could. In comparison, even Vernon sounded like a better option.  
  
••••••••••  
  
The night between Sunday, 14 July 1996, and Monday, 15 July 1996, Unknown hour  
Cupboard under the stairs, 4 Privet Drive, Surrey  
  
He was thirsty. So thirsty. He wasn't sure what time of the day it was, or even if it was still Sunday, he had lost all notion of time. They had not released him from his confinement since Friday night. And he had last been able to drink in the early afternoon while doing the gardening. Two days. Wasn't it three days, the amount of time one could stay without water. Or was it food. He certainly had survived without food for more than three days before. That time at the zoo, for example. He had met his very first friend. What was his name again? He wasn't so sure the snake had said how to call him. What kind of friend was he, not knowing the name of his first pal?? He remembered something about Brazil... That's it, the snake was called Brazil. Oh, he should introduce Brazil to Hagrid, the gatekeeper would be delighted! Gatekeeper, that was a strange job for Hagrid now that he thought about it... The man was obviously far too big for a broom. Of course, that also meant he was big enough to cover the goals, but it was against the rules to play on an Hippogriff.  
A dog bark. What was Fluffy doing at the Dursleys'. No, that wasn't Fluffy. Marge was there, and Petunia and Dudley were back. Marge was there and the reason Vernon had left him alone for the weekend. No more beatings but also no more water. He really, really wanted water. Please, he would be good. Was he crying? His body was shaken by sobs, it hurt so much, but his face stayed dry.  
The door. The door would get him out. Let him out. Whatever. He had to get out, now! Or he would die. And he couldn't die, because then who would write to Snuffle? Open the door, open it!  
He was weeping again. Except his cheeks weren't wet, only his hands, and they were red. Were tears supposed to be red? He was hot, he was cold. He was suffocating. Who closed the curtains, he couldn't see anything? He could hear the showers running -thirst, he was going to be late for class. He hoped Hermione would put some breakfast aside for him. He really couldn't count on Ron for that, the glutton. He felt really tired and his hands hurt. His head too. Maybe he had a vision. Yes, that was it, a vision. Ron would tell the Headmaster and everything would be all right. He could get back to sleep, Madam Pomfrey would take care of him. He wondered how many Chocolate Frogs he would get this time...  
  
••••••••••  
  
Sunday, 14 July 1996, 10.50 pm  
Head Auror office, Ministry of Magic, London  
  
Gawain Robards was reviewing the paperwork from the day, having just come back from an unsuccessful raid in Knocturn Alley. His mind was already on the long soak and the drink he would indulge in once back home. However, his dreams of a relatively early night were quickly squashed by one of his Aurors, a young recruit barely out of training, knocking on his door. Being Head Auror was a pain.  
  
"Sir, I'm really sorry to disturb you, sir, but there's something that requires your attention."  
  
"Yes, what is it, Reynolds?", he answered, still sorting through the files on his desk. His subordinate was shifting on his feet, a nervous habit he would have to see corrected.  
  
"Well, one of our detectors picked up a faint dark magic trace earlier this evening. In a Muggle Area. We followed the procedure, went there to have a look. There was nothing. Muggle family - nasty piece of work by the way, they said nothing unusual had happened. The neighbourhood was calm. Family Office was already closed, so we couldn't check if there was a Muggle-born living there, but it didn't seem so. So we thought the detector was messed up."  
  
"Auror Reynolds, I do hope you are not disturbing me at this hour to tell me about a dysfunctional detector." Gawain was pinching his nose, trying to contain the brewing headache his junior's dithering was causing.  
  
"No, of course not, sir! You see, the signal started again just before you came back. Except it's stronger. Not strong enough to be anything nefarious, but it would be strange for a messed up radar to make up that kind of levels. Crabtree and I went for a quick check, but the house looked quiet as ever. Family's probably gone to sleep. But we thought, what if there's a Death Eater hiding there or something. Doing recognition work for a raid, for example. Maybe they imperiused the family. Or..."  
  
At that, Robarts cut him off sharply.  
  
"Reynolds, what do you want from me, for Merlin's sake? And where is that phantom Dark practitioner?"  
  
"Well, we thought maybe you would issue an authorization for us to check the house probably and interrogate the Muggles. Just in case, you know. It's in Surrey, quiet residential street, Privet Drive. Number 4. Do we have anything on it?"  
  
"4 Privet Drive... Rings a bell", Gawain was already browsing the confidential documents he had received when he had been promoted Head Auror not a month before. Maybe he had information there that was not accessible to his troops.  
  
Suddenly, the information clicked.  
  
"Hell, that's where Harry Potter is spending his summer."  
  
He was out of his office in no time, shouting orders left and right for his best elements to gather and prepare for intervention. Behind him, Reynolds was confused.  
  
"But sir, Harry Potter was not there. The Muggles were having family time, and I assure you Harry Potter was not with them."  
  
At this point, the Head Auror didn't care. If the Boy-Who-Lived was hurt, or worse, had been abducted by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, his head would roll. He dismissed Reynolds, sending him to Saint Mungo to get a Healer on the scene. Just in case, as the idiot had said.  
  
••••••••••  
  
Sunday, 14 July 1996, 11.10 pm  
In front fo Number 4, Privet Drive, Surrey  
  
The intervention team had set up a magical ward so the neighbours wouldn't notice anything amiss. Kingsley Shacklebolt was standing next to his boss in front of the target. He had barely had time to send a warning to Dumbledore before leaving the Ministry. Having joined the newly reformed Order of the Phoenix in the face of the Ministry's inaction, he was now questioning his decision. Dumbledore had told them Harry would be watched over by Order members 24/7, but none of them was to be seen. Even if they were hiding, how could they have overlooked Dark magic being used in the house? No, the facts didn't add up, something was fishy.  
They knocked on the door. Or rather hammered on it. A stupid Ministry guideline forbade them from entering a Muggle house by force without first asking for permission. One of the upstairs windows lit up and they heard pounding steps coming down the stairs. The door opened to reveal a man Kingsley recognised as Harry's uncle, a purplish whale on legs, bundled up in ridiculous stripped pyjamas, and armed with a not-so-ridiculous hunting gun. When he saw them he tried to close the door on them, but Kingsley was faster. Less than a minute later, Aurors were going over the house with a fine-tooth comb.  
  
Kingsley was the one to find Harry. As an Auror, he had seen men fallen to the most ferocious Dark curses, but this sight would haunt his nightmares for the months to come. The inside of the cupboard's door was covered in blood, as was Harry's torso, face, and hands. The kid was curled against the door, one swollen, deformed hand clutched around a tuft of his matted hair. His shorts, the only clothes he still wore, were tainted in deep burgundy. Kingsley couldn't even tell which colour had originally been, as it was obvious that under the blood were layers and layers of filth of various natures. It was a wonder the pants had not fallen from the emaciated teenager yet, as they were torn in so many places that they were more holes than fabric. A vivid copper stench coupled with the stink of urine and an undercurrent of suppurating flesh stifled him. But the worse was the dark magic oozing from the teenager. A rare magical phenomenon, the instinctive reaction of a magical child faced with a painful death with no hope to be rescued. Harry must have fallen into profound despair for it to take place. At least the magic indicated he was still alive. On auto pilot, he signalled the need for medical aid. The new recruit that caught sight of the macabre picture had to rush out to throw up.  
   



	3. The hospital

Monday, 15 July 1996, 3 am  
Harry Potter's room, High Security Wing, St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, London  
  
Severus Snape was in a murderous mood. Worse than usual, that is. Getting a Floo call in the middle of the night because the son of his archenemy, whose life he was sworn to protect -damn Dumbledore, needed his help would probably spoil even the most even-tempered person's disposition. Truth, he had not been sleeping. But the uncouth Healers had had no way to know that, so it was all the same.  
With his trademark billowing black robes, he stormed into the idiot child's hospital room, nearly knocking over the close clutter of Healers, Aurors and Social Services wizards congregating around the bed. As one man, they turned toward him, the Aurors' wand already on him. With his eyes, he located the waste of space that was responsible for summons.  
  
"Healer Palmer, I hope you have a very good reason for calling me at this time of the night?"  
  
He laced his words with all the contempt he felt for the man and felt a jolt of sick pleasure at seeing him recoil. The now Healer had been two years ahead of him at school, and an obnoxious little rat, always ready to tell on his fellow Slytherins. It was a wonder he had not been assassinated and had made his way high enough in the hospital hierarchy to be in charge of Great Harry Potter.  
The man who spoke first, however, was a Mind Healer twice his age, who Snape knew to be nothing be thorough in his work, even if a bit to prone to coddle his patients.  
  
"Potion Master Snape, thank you very much for joining us! We all understand what an imposition it is, but we require your assistance for Mr Potter's treatment. Due to your... particular history with our patient, it appears that you are the only one in position to help. Now, all the information that will be disclosed to you here is extremely sensitive, so I cannot insist enough on the need for discretion."  
  
He waited for Snape to acknowledge this with a nod.  
  
"Harry Potter has been found a in bad state in his relative's enough late yesterday's evening, acutely dehydrated and malnourished. He appears to have been repeatedly beaten and most of his wounds are severely infected. All this has of course been dealt with already and he is recovering swiftly. What is worrying, however, is that he was seeping Dark magic when we found him, and he is still not responding to stimuli. We fear he has retreated into his mind and will not take possession of his body again before he realises he is safe."  
  
"And? Please do not tell me you have problems entering Potter's mind. His grasp of Occlumency is abysmal at best."  
  
"Well... No, entering is not the issue. However, as soon as we get close to his surface thoughts, he drowns us in Dark magic. Has taken three of my less experienced colleagues out. Even I could not stand more than a few seconds of this treatment."  
  
"So you thought that, being a Dark Art practitioner myself, I would be in my element. I think you overlooked, Healer Izzard, that I have not taken any Healer vow and am therefore not allowed to Legimencise anyone without their express consent. And of course, if Potter was able to grant such consent, my intervention unnecessary."  
  
"No, no, we do not expect you to act as an Healer. But it has come to our attention that you have been giving Mr Potter Occlumency lessons last year. Unless he has formally retracted your rights to enter his mind, there are no legal obstacles left."  
  
At this, the Social Services workers grumbled to themselves, and Kingsley, standing in his Auror robes at the back of the room, looked slightly guilty.  
  
"I see. So, you intend to consider that, since Potter has given me his consent before, in completely different circumstances, and has not stated that he did not give it for the present situation, I have his consent  _a priori?_ "  
  
One of the Social Services wizard answered him when it appeared that the others would not defend their decision. Another previous schoolmate of him. Hufflepuff, if his memory was correct.  
  
"We are aware it is not really best practice, Snape, but...", he started, but was interrupted by the Potion professor.  
  
"Professor. Or Potion Master. If you would", he corrected.  
  
"Of course, I apologize. So, Professor Snape, it is imperative that we communicate with young Potter. Not only can it be highly detrimental to his health if he were to stay locked in his mind for too long, from what the Healers told me, but we need to understand what unfolded in that Muggle house for him to be injured so. Both because he might have been hurt in some Muggle way the Healers have not detected and because it is urgent for us and the Aurors to understand who was responsible for his abuse. Of course, we have arrested the Dursleys and their fate does not make much doubt, but there is the delicate question of Headmaster Dumbledore's implication. So will you Legimencise the boy?"  
  
"Ah. Necessity knows no law, of course."  
  
He paused, letting them simmer a bit longer. In reality, he didn't care much about the well-being of one Harry Potter. He had only sworn to protect his life, after all. He wasn't one to pass an opportunity to trample the basic rights and dignity of his hated students. With a sight, he agreed.  
  
"Very well, I will. What exactly I am looking for?"  
  
••••••••••  
  
Unknown time  
Harry Potter's mind  
  
Someone was coming. He prepared himself to repel them like he had done the previous ones. He would have thought that death would be more peaceful, quieter. Maybe this was not death yet, but some kind of in-between, where lost souls stroke at those making their way to the after-world. A trial of sort.  
This one, though, was not like the others: he felt familiar. And unlike the others, he kept coming closer to him. Before, he had only had to  _will_  them away strongly enough and they would disappear. Now Harry was scared. Could one be in pain when they were dead? What would happen when the singular presence reached him? He tried to run away from it, but in this strange world with no dimension and no direction, he had no control on distance.  
  
**Potter**  
  
He knew that mind-voice. Snape. What was Snape doing here? Was he dead too?  
  
**Potter, stop bombarding me with Dark magic. As you can see, I am quite intent on staying. And, no, I'm not dead, you idiot child.**  
  
Dark magic? Was it what he was doing? That didn't make any sense, dead people had no magic, at least he didn't think so... Wait!! Snape had just said he was not dead. Why would he said that, precisely, unless he  _was_  dead and wanted Harry to believe otherwise? Even in death, Snape would probably enjoy tormenting him...  
  
**Stop being stupid, Potter. I know you have an inflated vision of your own importance in the world, but do you really think I would die just to be able to torture you for eternity?**  
  
Harry was confused. Was Snape hearing his thoughts?  
  
**As you would have realized already if you'd had something vaguely resembling a brain in that disfigured head of yours...**  
  
Shit! Dead, and sharing a mind link with Snape, talk about bad luck.  
  
**For the last time, I am not dead, Potter. Neither are you, incidentally.**  
  
Of course I'm dead, what do you mean? How else would you explain that I can't find my body? And I know you don't care, but the last thing I remember was definitively me dying...  
  
**Dramatic as ever... What you remember is fainting from a combination of hunger, thirst and blood loss. And instead of facing what was happening to your body, like the hero they all deem you to be, you hid away in your mind.**  
  
My mind? My mind doesn't look like that, I know it well enough after all your  _lessons_. It was never so black...  
  
**As stale as it sounds, the mind is an intricate thing. You are probably creating this void in order to feel safe.**  
  
Let's admit I'm not dead, and we are in my mind... What are you doing here?  
  
**The incompetent Healers you scared away with the Dark magic you are emitting have entrusted me with the task of bringing you back into your body, as well as understanding what happened to you.**  
  
Healers. The Order rescued me?  
  
**I'm afraid I have to crush your faith in the old fool. Dumbledore has nothing to do with you being alive. Aurors found you because their detectors indicated Dark magic being in use in your home. Now that your curiosity is satisfied, I need to see your memories of the last few days. I have a lot of plans that are much more important and urgent than talking the Savior back into life.**  
  
I still don't believe you. I could be dying, and you lying to me in order to search my mind for secrets to tell Voldemort...  
  
**Suit yourself. I do not need your cooperation for this, it would simply have made the process less painful for you...**  
  
Get out of my head.  
  
**So you do believe me.**  
  
Go die!  
  
**You cannot say I didn't warn you...**  
  
Even if I wanted to, I can't show you anything. I can't control what's happening in here. Why do you think I thought I was dead?  
  
Hey, hey, what do you think you are doing? No, stop, I don't want to see them! Take it away, take it away!  
Noooooo. I hate you. Get me out of there, please, please, I'll do anything you want. I'm sorry for the Pensieve, I didn't mean to. Please stop it!  
  
**Shut up, Potter, you're giving me an headache. I'm done. Your mind is a terrible mess, but I guess it shouldn't surprise me.**  
  
It hurt, your bastard!  
  
**Yes, yes... If you are done whining, maybe we could talk about getting you out of your self-imposed prison?**  
  
You think after what you have done I'm going to trust you?  
  
**Potter, you have two possibilities. Either you work with me, and when it's done you get back to your merry life. Or you keep sulking like a five-year-old and you will be seeing a lot of me until you change your mind, because I don't think the Wizarding World will be satisfied with their all-mighty Saviour spending the rest of his days in vegetative state. Not until you have done your deed, that is.**  
  
That's what you say!  
  
**Fine. Until next time, then, Potter.**  
  
...  
  
Wait! I'm really not at the Dursley's anymore?  
  
**Potter... Use that mushy thing between your ears you call a brain. How likely is it that your relatives would have called me to heal you, or even that they would have let me Legimencize you?**  
  
Well, if you told them you wanted to torture me...  
  
**...**  
  
Ok, ok, not bloody likely. But how do I know that I've not been captured by Voldemort. The bastard could very well have asked you to heal me so he can kill me himself...  
  
**Potter, you are a pain.**  
  
No, but really?  
  
**I guess you will have to take your chance.**  
  
That's not very reassuring.  
  
**Are you, or are you not going to do what I say?**  
  
...  
  
Ok. Is it going to hurt?  
  
**No. You said you could not find your body. Can you move or expand in the space you created?**  
  
I can't move. I'm not sure what you mean by expand... I don't really have limits, right now.  
  
**Could you, for example, reach toward me?**  
  
Like this?  
  
**It will do. Now, I am going to encircle you. Keep your magic under control or you'll regret it.**  
  
Wait, why do you need to do that? It feels gross!  
  
**Keep your childish comments to yourself Potter, unless you want me to speak my mind on your behaviour...**  
  
Yeah, I was wondering why you were less of a git than usual... Oh, shit, did I think that aloud?  
  
**Focus, Potter, focus! Since you seem to have control over your own entity but not on our environment, your task will be to stay whole while I steer you back in place.**  
  
Sounds crazy... Like, is my mind really out of my body or something?  
  
**Or something. It is a visualisation exercise, Potter, not reality. Now stop thinking and concentrate!**  
  
Okay, okay...  
  
••••••••••  
  
Monday, 15 July 1996, 5 am  
Harry Potter's room, High Security Wing, St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, London  
  
"Potion Master Snape? Sir, can you hear me?"  
  
"Stop fussing around, Palmer. And get your hands off me."  
  
The room was less more crowded than before. The social workers appeared to have taken a break and only one of the Mind Healers were still around. Both Healer Palmer, who had thankfully retreated on his waking up, and the Aurors were watching him expectantly, while the Hufflepuff Mind Healer examined Harry.  
  
"You were right in most of your assumptions. Potter's relatives are responsible for his physical state. He has not suffered from any curse, or unknown Muggle device. He dissociated from his body because he felt himself dying. Headmaster Dumbledore sent him back to his family this summer despite Potter's complaints, for reasons I am not at liberty of disclosing. He should wake up soon."  
  
This last statement was quickly confirmed by the Mind Healer. Immediately, Potter's bed was swarmed by all the Healers. Taking advantage of the confusion, Severus Snape said his goodbyes.  
  
••••••••••  
  
Monday, 15 July 1996, 3.30 pm  
Harry Potter's room, High Security Wing, St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, London  
  
He could hear people speaking around him. He couldn't make out much of what they said, but he recognized his name several times. He hated when people talked about him behind his back... And he wished they would quiet down, his head felt like cement had solidified in it. He tried to tell them to shut up but couldn't get his mouth to comply and his complaint came out as a groan.  
It had the desired effect for a second, as all conversations stopped abruptly. Then the room started to buzz with agitation, hands and wands poking and probing him, spells being cast on him... He attempted to swat them away, only to discover that his limbs felt awfully stiff and his movements were sluggish, at best. Finally, the turmoil settled down and he felt someone take his hand.  
  
"Mr Potter. Healer Palmer here. Please grip my hand if you understand me."  
  
Obediently, Harry fought against the lethargy that plagued his body to close his hand around the Healer's. He was quite confused. What was a Healer doing at the Dursleys? And how did all those people he had heard fit into his cupboard? Unless his uncle and aunt had moved him back to the third bedroom? But he didn't think they had been too happy with him when he went to sleep...  
  
"Good, Mr Potter, you are doing good! You are in St Mungo's Hospital. You have been rescued from your relatives by Aurors and you are safe. You had us worried for a moment here, you know? Do you remember Potion Master Snape helping you?"  
  
Snape, helping him? Feelings and words came to his mind. They had a dreamy quality to it. Surely, they were not real, not memories... No matter that Snape had already saved his life several times, there was no way he would have managed to stay that civil for an entire conversation with Harry. But this Mediwizard seem to think Snape had helped him, somehow. He settled for a slow, minimal head shake, noticing that moving was becoming easier. Another battle and his eyes were open. Without his glasses, he couldn't make out much of course, but the blurred spots of color revealed what were probably four Healers and two Aurors in addition to the man bent over his bed. A last shape, black this time, was standing farthest from him. He briefly wondered if it was Snape, even though the shape seems too short for it, before his musing were interrupted by Healer Palmer.  
  
"Wonderful! We did not expect you to open your eyes so soon, Mr Potter! Now, I'm sure you have questions, but health come first! I'm going to run a few more tests, then my colleagues will do too. Tell us if you are getting tired.  "  
  
He waited until Harry had given him a short nod before brandishing his wand before the teenager's eyes.  
  
"Look at the tip of my wand, if you would. That's it. Follow it with your eyes."  
  
  
As the tests and Healers succeeded to each other, Harry felt the lethargy settled back in his body and mind. When his lids started closing on their own, Healer Palmer signaled for the end of the evaluation. He fed Harry a potion before ushering his fellow Mediwizards out. When he bid Harry a good rest, his patient had already fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep.  
  
••••••••••  
  
Wednesday, 17 July 1996, 11.02 am  
Harry Potter's room, High Security Wing, St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, London  
  
For once, Harry woke up to a room not filled with Healers, but with Aurors. Five of them to be exact. He only recognized Kingsley in the lot, though one or two he might have come across before. All of them looking very serious and official as they waited for him to wake up, not the at ease stance whatever Auror was guarding his room at the time usually sported. With them were a wizard and a witch in plain dark robes.  
When they noticed he was awake, it was one of those unidentified wizard that made toward him.  
  
"Good afternoon Mr Potter. My name is Gemma Hope, this is my colleague Duncan Murray and we are both representatives from the Office of Wizarding Child and Family Affairs. In the Muggle world, we would be known as social service workers. We are here to monitor your questioning as the victim of abuse and negligence from your legal and magical guardians."  
  
Seeing that Harry looked rather confused, her colleague took over, smiling at him.  
  
"The Aurors have to interrogate you to determine the extent of the abuse you were subjected to and the responsibilities of the various adults around you. It is especially sensitive considering who you and your magical guardian are, and we are here partly to ensure that your role in this war won't get in the way of your rights as an underage wizard. If you wish, you can give us the name of an adult you trust, except of Albus Dumbledore of course, and we will have they come to give you support."  
  
Harry thought about it. He didn't want anyone to know about what happened at the Dursleys, but since it looked like he would have to tell anyway, he wasn't sure it mattered if one more person knew... It would all get in the papers in no time in any case, as usual... Might as well take the social workers on their offer.  
But then, there was the question of who. Before the summer, he would have answered Sirius without hesitation, but now... It hurt that it was so difficult to name one adult he could trust to support him. Dumbledore was the one mentor figure in his life, but he was out, and he wasn't sure he would want to trust the Headmaster with this anyway. Mrs Weasley would smother him and Mr Weasley was nice but his fascination with all things Muggle often got in the way. Not Hagrid either. He was his very first friend and Harry loved him dearly, but he was fiercely loyal to his employer and Harry didn't want to put him in a situation where he had to choose between the two of them. He didn't have personal ties to any of the other teachers. Apart from Remus... who he didn't want to see because Sirius's death hurt too much, and Remus was irreversibly tied to his godfather in Harry's mind.  
The Aurors were beginning to show signs of impatience. Harry was still hesitating. If he wanted someone at his side, he could not imagine any other adult than Remus doing it, but was it worth the pain and grief his presence would bring? On the other hand, if he declined their proposition, the social workers would probably take it as proof that all adults around Harry were untrustworthy. He trusted Remus with his life, that was not the problem.  
He closed his eyes. He was tired, why couldn't they leave him alone... Did they really need to come and stir up the hornet's nest that was his mind?  
  
"Mr Potter, are you still with us?"  
  
Maybe he should have them believe that he had fallen asleep. But as tempting as it was, it meant they would be back later and he would never be left in peace. Opening his eyes again, he sighted.  
  
"Could Remus Lupin come, please?"  
  
"Lupin... Isn't that the werewolf that taught at Hogwarts for a year?"  
  
Of course, the ministry workers would find something wrong with his choice... Prejudiced idiots. Nothing could ever be simple with them.  
  
"Is it the full moon?"  
  
"Well, no, but..."  
  
"Then why do you care? I trust Remus, I would like him to come. You said I could ask for someone here to support me? Did you lie?"  
  
He knew he was playing dirty, but he couldn't care less. If they didn't like it they could leave.  
  
"No, of course not. But you have to understand we are responsible for your safety."  
  
"Bullshit. Remus is not dangerous out of the full moon. I won't answer any question until he is here."  
  
Mrs Hope shared a glance with her colleague, then turned toward Kingsley, who appeared to be in charge of the Aurors. The black man gave a terse nod and she sighted.  
  
"Very well. Duncan, would you go fetch him please?"  
  
Said Mr Murray nodded in agreement and crossed the door. The rest of them settled to wait for him and Remus. Despite his reservations about showing how weak he was in front of the present audience, Harry felt himself drift into sleep now that no conversation was holding his attention.  
  
  
He was woken up some time later with Remus sitting at his side, holding his hand. The man looked even worse than he usually did right after the full moon. Mindful of the company they entertained, he only squeezed Harry's hand and whispered a soft "I'm sorry". Those three little words, and the sad smile gracing his former teacher's face, set off a suffocating wave of emotion inside Harry. Gripping tight on the hand holding his own, he struggled to lock the sensations back from where they came. A few tears escaped his eyes before he managed to get a grip on himself. As usual, the control came at the price of a thick, heavy fog setting down on his thoughts.  
The Aurors left them a few more moments to themselves before Kingsley cleared his throat and spoke the official introduction to the questioning. After a few preliminary, harmless questions, they started asking for detailed descriptions of his treatment at his relatives. They had assured him that he could refuse to answer any questions, but now he felt pressured by the formal setting. He feared that if he kept quiet, his relatives would be able to lie their way out of this, and then he would have to go back with them...  
Shutting his lids as if they could shield him from the bad memories, he launched into a monotonous account of his life at the Dursleys, before Hogwarts and for every summer since he was eleven. Every now and then, one of Aurors asked for clarifications and he answered in the same detached voice. He felt like he was far, far away, deep in the fog, and the words that came out of his mouth were not his, had no meaning. All along, Remus held his hand, gripping it tighter at times, running his thumb on the back of it at others. When they finally left, he drank the Dreamless Sleep potion a Mediwizard had brought him without complaint, and savored the peace and lightness that came with it.


	4. The traitor

Monday, 15 July 1996, 7pm  
Professor Snape's quarters, Hogwarts

Snape was gazing at the fire, lost deep in thoughts. What he had seen in Potter's mind... shouldn't have existed. And yet, it explained a lot.  
The Dark Lord had not simply marked Potter as his equal, as described by the prophecy: he had left a piece of himself, a Horcrux, inside the boy. A piece of himself that granted the Chosen One the gift of Parseltongue, for one, and an unprecedented connection to Voldemort's mind. A piece of himself that would have to be destroyed if the old fool and his scarred puppet wanted to kill his Lord.  
Snape would have laughed at the situation, Potter having to die to be able to kill Voldemort, when he was the only one that could kill him, according to the prophecy. But he was not laughing. No, seething, more like. Because he had sworn to protect the brat's life. On his magic. And this uncovering meant that he would be faced with the choice of loosing his magic or betraying his Lord and believes.

It also explained how Voldemort survived the Killing Curse: he didn't. The Horcrux in Potter was probably not the only one his Lord had made, so after his main piece of soul died, he had been able to possess other beings with one of his secondary pieces of soul.  
This lead him to wonder how many such Horcruxes the wizard had created. He had chanced upon Potter's memory of his parents' death while traipsing in the teenager's mind, and the Dark Lord had not conducted any necromancy ritual before aiming at the baby. Considering such a ritual was usually needed to direct the split soul into the desired vessel, he could only guess that the Horcrux in Potter had not been created on purpose. Which meant that the source soul had already been damaged enough for it to tear spontaneously. But how many divisions would be necessary for one to maim their soul so much?

He needed to borrow some books from the Malfoy... Horcruxes were terribly Dark magic, the secret of which was unknown to most. Only ancient Dark families would have more than the cursory definition in their library.

**********

Saturday, 20 July 1996, 3pm  
Professor Snape's quarters, Hogwarts

No matter how he looked at the problem, Snape didn't see any other solution.

He had first thought to Obliviate the memory of the Horcrux in Potter's from his own mind. Since this piece of knowledge endangered the teenager's life, forgetting about it could be considered to fit his oath of protection. And once he didn't know about it anymore, he wouldn't have to choose between his magic and his believes. But Obliviation did not actually remove one's memory from one's mind. It merely made it unaccessible. Any skilled Legimens was able to detect and unlock Obliviated memories. Considering the amount of time the Dark Lord, a more than proficient Master Legimens, spent scrutinizing his mind, this plan had no chancing of working in the long term. And he didn't care for the slow and agonizing death that most certainly awaited him of his Lord discovered he had concealed such knowledge from him.  
The simplest thing would of course be to go to his Lord and reveal what he had uncovered. However, he was almost guaranteed to loose his magic. If, as he assumed, the Dark Lord had several others Horcruxes, he would probably prefer to kill Potter even if it meant sacrificing a piece of his soul. Especially considering the content of the full prophecy, which Snape had also found in Potter's brain. So he needed a way to warn his master without endangering Potter.

The only loophole that the Potion Master had been able to dig up in this apparently no-win situation depended on quite worrying information from ancient scrolls belonging to the Malfoy and Black libraries. Writings on Horcruxes were few and mostly theoretical, and accounts from wizards having created several of them were even fewer. Luckily, the Malfoy and Black families had been collecting rare manuscripts on all branches of Dark Magic for centuries. After painstakingly cross-referencing various texts on the subject, Snape had come to the bone-chilling conclusion that Tom Riddle, better known as Lord Voldemort, had slipped his soul enough time for him to develop a form of dementia. For all he shared his values and admired his ambition, Snape could not deny the fact that during the last years of his ruling, before his partial death and since his rebirth, the Dark Lord had not exactly been in his right mind. Most of his followers had signed it off as a necessary evil, the paranoia and whims of a great visionary, but the Potion Professor had been suspecting for some time now that there was more to it.

If he understood what he had read properly, the soul was not a finite object; one could split their soul any number of time without any of its pieces being any less. However, all the soul fragments remained connected until they were destroyed. So the more Horcruxes one created, the more torn their mind would become. By comparing the scrolls with what he remembered from the Dark Lord's evolution, Snape estimated that he had created at least four Horcruxes in addition to the accidental one in Potter. One had probably been the diary Potter had destroyed in the Chamber of Secrets in his second year. Another would have been used for his Lord's resurrection. That left at least two other fragments that they would need to gather and fuse back together. Plus Potter's, however he wasn't sure yet if it would be possible to extract the fragment from him without killing him. But the feedback from a single Horcrux should be bearable. And that one Horcrux would be Lord Voldemort's ticket to immortality, so he would have to let Potter live, maybe even turn him over and protect him. Of course, there was still the issue of the prophecy, but Fate was fickle and its messages difficult to interpret. Maybe he could convince his Lord that it may not mean that he had to murder Potter or be slain?  
It was far from optimal, but it was the best plan he could come up with... Now, he had to device a way to tell the Dark Lord that would not get him shot down the moment he uttered the word Horcrux. Though he knew he wouldn't be able to avoid a few or more Crucios.

**********

Monday, 22 July 1996, 11.30 am  
Lord Voldemort's study, Riddle House, Little Hangleton

Satisfied that his follower had said what he believed to be the truth, Voldemort let go of his throat. Severus Snape fell in an heap on the floor, desperately trying to catch his breath and gather his wits again after his Lord had so violently ransacked his mind. The Dark Lord returned to the antique armchair before his desk, pondering what he just learned. It was difficult and extremely irritating to contemplate the possibility that his plans for eternal life had backfired. Of course, Severus's belief that the Horcruxes had made him crazy was preposterous and quite impertinent, but to himself, Lord Voldemort could acknowledge that as years went by he was growing more... liable to irrational anger or mistrust. Enough for him to take his follower's concern seriously.

"I appreciate your dedication, Severus. I expect to see all the material you used in your research tomorrow afternoon. You may go."

With a distant gesture of hand, he dismissed his Potion Master. The man struggled to stand, his limbs still spasming from the curse treatment he had subjected him too, and staggered to the door. Serve him well! No matter if they had a good reason, it wouldn't do for his minions to believe they could come and call him a lunatic to his face...

**********

Thursday, 25 July 1996, 1 am  
Lord Voldemort's bedroom, Riddle House, Little Hangleton

Voldemort was pacing back and forth, digging a trench in the floor of his room. What had he done... Had he sacrificed his intelligence and discernment to his fear of death? He did not want to believe it, but all the proofs were here.  
When he had researched the Horcuxes as a way to immortality, he had only had access to an absurdly small number of books. He had still been at Hogwarts at that time, and did not yet have strong ties to any Noble and Most Ancient House who would have been to provide him with interesting material. He had questioned the fool Slughorn, who he knew would not tell on him, but the coward had only given him vague warnings about the morality of murder and how it destroyed one's soul. One book had mentioned consequences, dehumanization both mental and physical, as well as psychological instability, but it had also been openly against the idea of murder... With the arrogance of youth, he had elected to overlook those threats and had made his first Horcrux with the death of some mediocre schoolgirl. As there had not been any notable change after that, he had forgotten about the warnings and created several more Horcruxes during the following years...  
This was probably why he had accepted Severus's hypothesis so readily: he had know all along that his present appearance was not due to Wormtail's negligence during his resurrection ritual. The knowledge was just lost in some deep part of his mind, covered in dust. Of course, the scrolls and books brought back by his Potion Master had also made a strong case toward Severus's supposition.  
He had spent the last two days pouring over them. Two days going back and forth between fury, disbelief, resignation and excitation in front of the new knowledge. Wormtail had made the mistake of disturbing him during one of his darker moods and was now being dissolved and crushed somewhere in Nagini's digestive track. A pity, really, as the obsequious idiot had had some use in this Muggle home. Now he had to rely entirely on house elves and they were loyal to their families first, not to him... And Crucioing the little creatures was not as stress-relieving as hearing Wormtail's pleas. Well, he would be able to replace his servant with one of the idiots caught during the Ministry fiasco as soon as his negotiations with the Dementors were over. In the meantime, he had to come to a decision regarding the Horcrux issue.  
He could not stand the idea of not being completely himself, of being controlled by external powers. Even when those forces were, in some way, him. But being mortal again... That was out of question. Of all his attempts at eternal life, the Horcruxes had been the only one that proved to be reliable. The Philosopher's Stone was gone, unicorn blood could only be used as a temporary mean, and he was still trying to get his hands on the Deathly Hallows... Of course, he could choose to keep only one Horcrux, but there was always a risk that his enemies would learn about it and time an attack to destroy it just before they dealt him a fatal blow.  
Unless... Unless he factored the prophecy relayed by Severus in the equation. The boy, who was supposed to be the only one able to kill him, also hosted a piece of his soul. _He_ was the key. Who would kill the Boy-Who-Lived, their Savior? And if they killed Potter, no one would ever be able to defeat _him_. Maybe he should kill Potter... No, he had been trying to do exactly that for years, and it always resulted in precarious situations. The best option would be to put Potter under his protection, discreetly, and to work on bringing the boy to his side. Then, he would be unstoppable!  
What to do with the other Horcruxes now? Destroying even a single one of them was of course out of question. He would not kill any part of himself, even a spare piece of soul. Nor could he ask someone to do it in his stead. What he needed was to find a way to put the pieces back together and mend his torn soul. Easier said than done... One of the more Light oriented -if a manuscript written by a Necromancer could be Light oriented- scrolls brought by Severus mentioned that if one split his soul into an Horcrux, one could heal it back by feeling remorse for the murder they had committed to do so. He was about as likely to feel remorse for any of those deaths than he was to go have tea with Dumbledore and his Muggle-loving puppets. Probably even less. There had to be another way.  
He would have Severus look into it. After all, all this mess was definitively his fault. And the Potion Master was more likely to find a solution than his other followers. Expect for Lucius, maybe. But that idiot was behind bars, because he had been overpowered by schoolchildren! He would get the Carrows to speed up the Azkaban plan. He needed a replacement for Wormtail, before his nerves got the better of him...


	5. The resourceful elf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I now have a fantastic beta, DivineImmortal!  
> Many thanks to her for proofreading this chapter. Any left-over mistakes are of course mine. Enjoy :)

Friday, 26 July 1996, 1pm  
Hospital Wing, Hogwarts 

Harry was looking at the rain falling behind the window. A few beds over, Madam Pomfrey and Healer Palmer were arguing about variants of the Dreamless Sleep potion. Apparently, the Hogwarts matron was not too fond of the oily Mediwizard... Not that Harry would have cared one way or another, expect for the fact that he was stuck here until they came to an agreement. You would have thought that since they were the ones kicking him out, the St Mungo's healers wouldn't be so picky about what potion Hogwart's Mediwitch fed him. But no, they had to bicker about it endlessly!  
Maybe he could take a nap? Or just lie down and close his eyes for a few minutes. The bed he was currently sitting on seemed inviting enough... It was not a crime, was it? After all, the reason why Madam Pomfrey had to supervise him for the rest of the summer was that he was convalescent. Surely that entitled him to some rest, even if it was the middle of the day, right? One last look at the squabbling adults and he pushed his shoes off his feet. Yawning, he let his head fall on the pillow and curled up on his side. The rain kept falling outside, and its music was soothing.  
The Healer chose that moment to cast a Tempus unfortunately. He mumbled something about being late to his department weekly meeting as he packed his briefcase, before making his way to the Floo. He didn't even stop to bid goodbye to his patient, full as he was of his own importance and tight schedule. He was evidently quite happy to be rid of the Boy-Who-Lived, whose fame, while it had given a huge boost to his career, had thrust the hospital into a myriad of problems, from fans swarming the Entry Hall, to reporters trying to infiltrate various services to find the Savior's room, to Aurors was hindering their work by insisting to triple check anyone and anyone entering the wing where they kept the teenager. During the last few days, Harry had felt the annoyance of the medical staff accumulate over the last few days and they had made it clear it was high time he moved out. Of course, they had not discussed it with him. Obviously, even if they deemed him physically fit, they did not consider him mature enough to know the best place for him to live. So the Social Service officials had arranged for him to stay in Hogwarts under Madam Pomfrey's supervision. When he had asked why he could not stay with Remus, Mrs Hope had looked mournful and patted his shoulder, remarking on how sad it was that the only adult he looked up to was one so unfit to take care of a child. So here he was, dragged out of his aborted nap by the bustling Hogwarts matron. 

"So, Mr Potter, let's hope the rest of your summer will be much more pleasant than its start, shall we? The house elves have made a bed for you in the sixth year Gryffindor dormitory, I'm sure you'd rather stay up there than here with me. You can take your meals wherever you want, except the Library, of course, they will bring them to you. I generally eat in my rooms or the gardens during the summer, but if you want to share dinner in the Great Hall once in a while, I'd be happy to keep you company."

Harry highly doubted he'd wanted her -or anyone's- company but he hummed in a noncommittal way nonetheless.

"Please take your potion regimen seriously; the house elves will bring them to you when you need to take them. That Healer from Saint Mungo's also insisted that the standard version of the Dreamless Sleep was not strong enough for you, so I will give you a bottle of the modified formula he recommended. Two drops a night, no more than that, and you can only take it every day for two weeks. After that, no more than three times a week, you understand? I can trust you with it, can I?" 

Through Madam Pomfrey's explanations, Harry nodded obediently, and when she held the sleeping concoction out he made a noise of assent and reached for it. Whatever she said, as long as he would be left alone. 

"Well, run along then! The elves will know where to find me should you ever need me." 

Harry didn't need to be told twice. With the potion bottle in hand he thanked the matron as he slid off the bed he had been waiting on and made his way to the door. Once outside, he gathered his strength and started toward the Gryffindor Tower. Rationally, he knew it wasn't so far away, it was pretty close even, but his sluggish body made every hallway seems far longer than usual, and he couldn't wait to be in his dorm. The thought of snuggling up in bed under a warm duvet, with no one to disturb him and no expectation weighting on his tired shoulders, carried him up to his target. 

Opening the door to his new room, he was immediately assaulted by an overexcited house elf, dressed up in layers of colourful scarves and socks. It took a few seconds of the creature bouncing up and down chanting his name for his foggy brain to register that it was Dobby, welcoming him home and demonstrating his delight at being able to serve his friend Harry Potter for the rest of the summer. Harry thanked him half-heartedly. He removed his shoes and socks as the little being went on and on about how ecstatic all the elves were to have him back and what he would do to Harry Potter's horrible, nasty family if the Ministry didn't send them to Azkaban. Understanding that his diminutive friend would not leave on its own, Harry sighted. 

"Please don't do anything to them, Dobby, you'd get in trouble. They are not worth it."

Harry starred at his bed longingly.

"I'm going to take a nap, could you wake me for dinner, please? I'm really tired." 

"Of course, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby will do, Harry Potter no worry. Dobby be's bringing dinner and be's waking Harry Potter up." 

With a snap of the fingers, the elf was gone, to Harry's great relief. His exuberant manners were definitively exhausting. Swirling the modified Dreamless Sleep potion in its bottle, he resolved to take some. He had not slept without help since his rescue, and he felt like he was not ready to start. He was certainly not in a hurry to go back to a routine of nightmares and even more nightmarish visions from Voldemort. And after all, Madam Pomfrey had said no more than two drops a night, but she had not explicitly stated that he was not to take any during the day. Surely she meant two drops anytime he slept, naps included. Right? 

********** 

Wednesday, 31 July 1996, 2pm  
Kitchen, Hogwarts 

Dobby was worried about his friend Harry Potter. He was acting not like himself. Always sleeping or resting, always sad. The elves in the kitchen were making all his favorites, treacle tart every meal, but he didn't eat much. And if Dobby did not stay with him and remind him to keep putting food in his mouth, he wouldn't even eat at all. When it had happened at first, when he was still so happy to have his friend Harry Potter at Hogwarts for the summer, Dobby had been quite upset by it. Harry Potter had never liked food as much as his Wheezy, but not eating at all, that was no good. So now, Dobby had taken to waking him up for every meal and coaching him to eat and take his potions. He had even managed to drag him outside to have a picnic, once, but afterwards Harry Potter had looked even sadder. Dobby had organized for the elves to always keep a discreet eye on his friend. Sometimes he would cry himself to sleep, once he had fallen asleep without taking the pinky potion for sleep and had awaken minutes after screaming for his life. At night he seemed slightly more alive, wandering through the old castle for hours on hand like an errant soul. Often the elf on watch would come to Dobby because Harry Potter was not noticing his bare feet turning blue against the cold stones.  
Dobby was very worried indeed. 

For this reason, he had dressed with his best scarves and socks and knitted hats and had Apparated away from Hogwarts. He was not going to let his friend Harry Potter sleep and cry for his birthday, that he wasn't!  
He reappeared in the old Black House, right next to Harry Potter's Wheezy. His red-haired sister and Harry Potter other great friend, the one who had knitted his many hats, were there too. All three of them were gathered on a bed and talking in muted voice. They went quiet and looked a bit guilty when they noticed Dobby was there. 

"Hi Dobby. Is there anything wrong? Did Dumbledore send you with a message?" 

"Oh no, no, miss, Dobby is not obeying bad, bad Dumbledore! Dobby is loyal to Harry Potter. Dobby needs your help! Harry Potter is sad, very sad. Dobby thinks sir and miss should visit their friend Harry Potter for his birthday." 

The humans looked at each other. The girl Wheezy put her head in her hand and Hermione Granger sighed. The Wheezy jumped to his feet and started to pace the room. 

"Fuck! I knew he would be feeling down after all that. We never should have let him go with those stupid relatives of him... And now we can't help him through that." 

Hermione Granger put a calming hand on the Wheezy's shoulder. 

"I'm sorry, Dobby, but we cannot go to see him. We wanted to visit him in the hospital already, but he is under the Office of Wizarding Child and Family Affairs' responsibility and they have forbidden any contact. We can't even write to him! We tried, but one of their officials showed up at the Burrow with the letter we sent and gave us an earful about it... Apparently, they cannot trust anyone from his entourage not to pressure him before the trial. We don't even know where he is now, just that they have released him from St Mungo's," she complained, before being interrupted by the Wheezy. 

"Wait, we were trying to come up with a way to get a letter to him without the Office of Whimpering Cowards and Fucking Assholes throwing a fit... You can help us, can't you Dobby? You can take our letters to Harry and bring back his answer?" 

"Of course, Dobby can take Harry Potter's friends' letters to Hogwarts! No one will know about it! Dobby can take Harry Potter's friends too, if they want. But Dobby won't be able to hide that from the Headmistress. Dobby should probably break his fingers for not being able to help..." 

The kind Hermione Granger stopped him before he could even move an ear. She looked very excited and spoke very fast without waiting for his answers. Maybe Dobby had done something good... 

"Oh, Ron, that's such a good idea! And Dobby, you are wonderful, don't even think about hurting yourself. Harry is very lucky to have a friend like you. I think it's better if we don't get Harry in trouble by going to see him, but if we can exchange letters without getting caught, it would be great!"

Dobby glowed with pride. Harry Potter's friend thought Dobby was wonderful.

"Hopefully we can cheer him up a bit, and make sure he knows he is not alone in this and as soon as they allow us to we will be by his side. So he is in Hogwarts? It's good, he always says it's home for him. And you said Headmistress, probably McGonagall, right? Unless they nominated some idiot from the Minister, but I don't think they would do that, after last year..."

The smart witch frowned.

"Though, she is due to report us if we go, so better not. Could you give us a few minutes to finish our letters and get his birthday gifts?" 

Dobby nodded solemnly. Everything for his friend Harry Potter. The humans moved about the room, swapping parchment, quills and paper-wrapped parcels. Ronald Weezey left the room and reappeared a moment later with another package. Before long, Dobby was handed out several scrolls and the packets. He exchanged many thanks with the Wheezy, the girl Wheezy and the generous knitting girl and Apparated away. Harry Potter was not going to be miserable for his birthday! 

********** 

Wednesday, 31 July 1996, 5pm  
Gryffindor Common Room, Hogwarts 

Harry was lying on his back in the centre of the Common Room, gazing absently at the ceiling. Dobby had insisted he dress and leave his dorm that morning, saying that he would drench him in cold water if he stayed in bed. Harry didn't see why it mattered, since he wouldn't do anything more out of his bed than in it, but he'd rather make the effort to go down to the Common Room than end up shivering in wet bedding.  
A part of him felt that he had to protect his bed, his nest, so it could continue to keep him safe in return. He had many weird thoughts like that these days. Thoughts about how as long as he stayed absolutely still everything would be ok, or how he would like to fall asleep and never wake up. It sounded very much like wanting to die to him, and it scared him, because he didn't want to die, not really. He just wanted to be left alone, to get some peace. For all the pain, despair and anger to go away. And planning one's own death was so tiring anyway, he didn't have the energy to spare for that.  
A sound of apparition somewhere behind him brought his thoughts on Dobby. Dobby, faithful as ever, who was making sure he ate and showered and didn't get lost in the labyrinth of hallways during his walks. It was a good thing the elf was there, because Madam Pomfrey's current motto seemed to be "No news is good news". She had not checked on him even once since he had arrived, satisfied that the house elves would cater to his daily needs and that he had left the Hospital Wing with a clean bill of health. Of course, she probably had better things to do than babysit the angsty Boy-Who-Lived. Everybody had better things to do it appeared, apart from Dobby. He hadn't heard from any of his friends, or Remus, or anyone really, since coming back to Hogwarts. Well, he wasn't the most cheerful person right now anyway, so he understood if they didn't want to be around him. _He_ didn't want to be around himself right now, but you didn't get a choice about that kind of things... Not to mention that all people close to him seemed to die at one point or another. Yeah, he would stay away in their place. 

But Dobby didn't stay away. He was there for him, time and time again, even when Harry was digging his heels in the entire way and generally being an ungrateful piece of shit.  
Like right now. Dobby was moving around, chatting to himself and singing a silly tune. He was preparing a little party for Harry's birthday, but Harry's mood was in a dark cloudy land. Even his own traditional midnight celebration seemed too much right now. But there was no reining in the ever-cheerful house elf, so Harry would have to endure.  
His overbearing friend was calling him now. He didn't want to get up. When Dobby started to shake his shoulder vigorously, he resolved to set his stiff body in motion. Just his fingers, to begin with, a way to break through the immobility by bits. He had learned quickly after awaking at the hospital that going from stillness to movement abruptly was too high a goal and he had to work up toward it. Bending his legs, rolling on his side, pushing up, waiting for the usual dizzy spell to fade...  
Dobby was buzzing with excitement in front of a food-laden coffee table, under a sparkling banner where the words _Happy_ , _Birthday_ and _Potter_ were chasing a Snitch-like _Harry_ with little golden wings on brooms. Levitating above the table, a treacle tart decorated with animated golden meanders sported sixteen burgundy lion-shaped candles. And, to Harry's surprise, a few packages and envelops were piled up next to the meal. Faced with the teenager's hesitation, Dobby grabbed his hand and dragged him over to the little party setup.  
A snap of his fingers and music filled the room. Harry recognized "Do the Hippogriff" from the Weird Sisters, one of his favorite songs. He had discovered the group at the Yule Ball during the Triwizard Tournament in Fourth Year and had taken to listening to them on the Wizarding Wireless Network while he was staying at the Burrow during summer. But now it only filled him with melancholy and a little bit of anger toward his friends that had not written to him even once since the beginning of the holidays, when his rescue from the Dursleys had probably made the front page...  
Another click and the pile of letters and parcels floated up to Harry. On the top one, the mention _For Harry, to read first_ was written in clean letters. Harry looked at them, and then at Dobby, wondering if they were from his little friend. There seemed to be to many of them for them to be from a single person. Apparently, Dobby has felt his hesitation. 

"Harry Potter reads the letters from his friends and eat the good cake. Dobby is needed in the kitchen. Happy birthday Harry Potter!" 

With that, the house elf disappeared, abandoning Harry to his correspondence. He looked down at it. Letters from his friends, Dobby had said. Which ones? The ones that had forgotten all about him as soon as they had met up with their loving families? On the other hand, maybe they had a got reason for not writting... He could not completely squash the dangerous flicker of hope sparkling in his chest. He missed Ron and Hermione so much! They had been there for him since his first steps in the Wizarding World, if someone could lighten his life right now, it was them... But the longing was painful, a growing burn stifling his lungs. What if it wasn't them? What if it was them but they blamed him for what happened at the Ministry? What if because of him they got hurt again? What if they expected him to be the same dynamic young man as before? What if they wanted him to take on the mantle of Savior of the Wizarding World, the fucking Boy-Who-Lived?  
He reached out to caress the rough paper with a finger. Only one way of knowing... He could delay, of course, but Dobby was due to check on him later and would pester him if he didn't open the letters. And then, he would have to read it in front of the elf...  
Better get done with it then. Taking a deep breath, he tore the top envelop open and unfolded the missive. 

**Dear Harry,**  
**Ron, Ginny and I wish you a very happy birthday!**  
**We would very much like to be able to spend this moment with you, but as Dobby may have explained to you, we have been forbidden to contact you in any way.**  
**The Office of Wizarding Child and Family Affairs fear we will pressure you before the Dursleys' trial. Nonesense, but still, they intercepted the letters we tried to send to you. But today Dobby came to ask us to come for your birthday, and Ron had this wonderful idea to give our letters and gifts to him. We wanted to see you, but he said that McGonagall would know about it if he Apparated us in Hogwarts. But maybe we could meet in Hogsmead if you think it's safe for you to sneak out? Anyway, the other letters and the gifts are for your birthday, we were trying to find a way to get them to you. Please, please write back through Dobby, we are so worried about you**  
**Take care,**  
**Love,**  
**Hermione**  
**(And Ron and Ginny)**

Feverish, Harry unrolled the other letters with tears rolling down his cheeks. Hermione was going on and on about everything she knew on trauma recovery and the difference between Muggle and Wizarding sentences for child abusers. She had even joined the corresponding volume of Laws of Conduct When Dealing With Muggles, assuring him that it didn't count as his birthday gift -which was an elegant quill with dark wood and a swan feather. Ron wrote about chess, the Chudley Cannons, the twins' last invention, anything but what had happened to Harry in the last month. Typical. Ginny's letter was rather nice but with a pitying undertone that ticked Harry off. The Weasley siblings had sent an assortment of sweets, accompanied by a leather wand holster from Ron.  
Harry had also received a gift from Dobby, mismatched socks, one purple with jumping chocolate frogs and the other cream with baby blue stripes. He slipped them on immediately. 

He was still sad and tired, and afraid for his friends, but knowing that people still cared from him, he fell asleep with a smile and only one drop of Dreamless Sleep potion that night. 


	6. The trial

Tuesday, 20 August 1996, 8am  
Headmistress Office, Hogwarts 

Harry was struggling to keep his eyes opened. Who had decided to hold the trial at such a ridiculous time? He was not used to waking up so early in the morning anymore and had exhausted most of his energy for the day trying to keep up with a hyper Dobby. His friend and somewhat caretaker had dragged him from bed before seven to shower, dress up for the tribunal and read the support message from his friends.  
Harry had been exchanging letters with Ron and Hermione -and sometimes Ginny- since his birthday. Not many of them, because it took so much out of Harry to write one and he didn't have much to write about. His friends' missives were also rather empty, as they were uncomfortable flaunting their busy and joyful summer at the Burrow to Harry's face. Their support was still very important to Harry, who felt slightly better knowing they cared enough to write despite their discomfort.  
Another unexpected encouragement letter had also arrived this morning. Fred and George had apparently discovered their siblings' correspondence with Harry -thanks to their Extendable Ears- and they were quite put out not to have been included. They had promised to prank the Dursleys and Dumbledore to death for their "youngest brother" if they manage to escape without what they deemed an appropriate sentence. Their new nickname for Dumbledore, "decaying color-blind goat", had drawn a near-smile from Harry.They even included a range of prank products and a parcel of food under preservation charms from their mother with their message. Not that Mrs Weasley knew about it of course; she had put it together for his birthday but tucked it away when the rule-sticklers from the social services wouldn't let her send it. The twins had pinched it to give to Dobby. Considering he still had some leftover treacle tart from his birthday party, Harry did not really need the food this year, but appreciated the thought all the same. 

He smoothed his hands over his robes yet another time. Professor McGonagall should signal him soon that it was safe for him to Floo over to the Ministry, but the waiting was making him nervous. Surely it didn't take that long to clear the space around one of the Floo entrances and throw some coloured powder in, right? How many reporters could there be for it to take so long...  
After a few more minutes, the flames in the hearth turned purple. That was his cue. Harry took a deep breath and threw the powder into the fire before calling as distinctly as he could: 

"Atrium of the Ministry of Magic!" 

********** 

Tuesday, 20 August 1996, 9am  
Courtroom Ten, Ministry of Magic, London 

The room was buzzing with excitement. Next to Harry, on the victim bench, Ms Hope was arguing vehemently with the court clerk. Something about how this trial was supposed to take place behind closed doors, the victim being underage and everything, but the clerk was adamant that the public had the right to know what happened to the Boy-Who-Lived. Bullshit. He hated how they made him feel like an object rather than a person. His mind swelled with visions of the reporters, fans, and hecklers dissecting his every word and movement, judging him for being weak, judging him for letting muggles abuse him. He shrank on himself. Why did he have to be there again? Maybe he could plead sick to escape... He certainly felt nauseous enough.  
Too late. Rufus Scrimgeour was already calling the room to order. Quick-Quotes Quills stood ready on parchment and every eye was on the Dursleys' as they were dragged to the accused chairs in the centre of the room, signalling the start of a nightmarish trial. 

********** 

Tuesday, 20 August 1996, 2pm  
Courtroom Ten, Ministry of Magic, London

"We will now be hearing from the victim, Harry James Potter. Harry Potter, would you please stand up?" 

Harry had known this was coming, but he still threw a desperate look at Mr Murray, who nodded encouragingly. When he still wouldn't move, Ms Hope, who sat on his other side, gave him a firm push. He stood up.  
The world was shaking, or maybe that was him. He could feel sweat rolling down his forehead and bile coming threateningly up his throat. He could hear every little noise in the room swarming around him like bees, loud and indecipherable. His name, he could hear his name far away in the fog. Someone was asking him to confirm he was Harry James Potter, born on July the thirty-first, nineteen eighty, in Godric's Hollow. That was him, for sure, wasn't it? Yes, it was, he was positive. But when he opened his mouth to answer, the air seemed to vanish from the room and he was left gasping for oxygen. It was hot, so hot, he was going to die... The blurry room began to shake, more and more it shook, all in time with the clammy pressure on his arm. Then, it went dark. Dark, silent, odourless. 

********** 

Tuesday, 20 August 1996, 2.30pm  
Courtroom Ten, Ministry of Magic, London 

Harry was back in the courtroom with a generous dose of Draught of Peace in his stomach, feeling marginally better. At least the walls were not moving and bending anymore. His back still smarted a bit where he had fallen on the bench, but Madam Pomfrey, who had conveniently been sitting just a few seats away, had assured him that it would fade quickly. Behind him, the reporters were having a field day: he could overhear words like _fragile_ or _traumatised_ and his blackout was sure to end up in the papers tomorrow... He didn't have time to fret over it too much as the Ministry called for him again. This time, he managed to stand up and answer the questions without fainting. They were the same as those asked by the Aurors when he was in St Mungo, the ones that were strictly about his life with his relatives at least. Every time a member of the Wizengamot questioned him the reasons why he hadn't sought help after coming to Hogwarts or why Dumbledore had sent him there, one of the representatives from the Office of Wizarding Child and Family Affairs would cut him before he answered. They reminded everyone that such matters would be looked into in a second phase of the trial. They had explained to him beforehand that they had agreed with the Aurors to split the case between a suit against the Dursleys and hearings to determine responsibilities of adult wizards around Harry.  
He answered automatically, in a detached manner, as if it wasn't he who had been locked into a cupboard and fed stale bread. Probably a side effect of the calming potion... It seemed easier than when he had had to tell the Aurors the first time. People behind him would gasp and swear at intervals, officials would repeat the same question several times: was he really sure? Yes he was. Unbelievable... 

By the time they finally broke for the day around seven Harry could barely keep his eyes open anymore. The last hour had been filled by Healers from St Mungo and Aurors from their rescue team presenting the evidence they had found. They would finish tomorrow, before listening to the Dursleys' defence. Which they would deliver to the court themselves, as they had refused to be represented by a wizard. They would face a court that, at the end of the day, was ostensibly hostile towards them. The Ministry officials had apologised profusely for submitting him to this part of the trial, but apparently, it was procedure. Of course, he would much rather have stayed in bed, but a small, vindictive part of himself craved the humiliation and condemnation that would crush the Dursleys and their narrow, bigoted life.  
Dobby was there to catch him when he stumbled down the stairs from the Headmistress Office. He Apparated them directly into Harry's current dorm, where the teenager fell in bed and curled into a ball. After much pestering from Dobby, he unfolded just long enough to remove his shoes and dress robes, eat a small bowl of broth with cheese crackers and take his usual two drops of Dreamless Sleep potion. Then, at long last, he wrapped himself around a pillow and slept straight through the night. 

********** 

Wednesday, 21 August 1996, 5pm  
Courtroom Ten, Ministry of Magic, London

The Wizengamot was ready to announce their verdict and Harry was pretty sure it would be a harsh sentence against the Dursleys. Vernon especially had distinguished himself by calling the jury "a sick bunch of beastly freaks who should have been drowned the minute they were born -and that still would have been merciful" and stating loud and clear that he was "proud of being considered a criminal by the foul lot of them, because that probably made him a hero for proper humans". Not exactly the kind of speech to endear him to his judges, or anyone in the assembly, really...

"Vernon Dursley, you have been found guilty of repeated accounts of child abuse on the person of Harry James Potter, your nephew by marriage. Given the seriousness of your offences, you have been sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban prison." 

The Minister lifted his gavel and let it fall on the wooden slab. An Auror quickly silenced Vernon with a spell when he opened his and Harry's aunt was brought forward. 

"Petunia Dursley _née_ Evans, you have been found guilty of repeated accounts of child abuse on the person of Harry James Potter, your nephew by blood. This court sentences you to one hundred years in Azkaban." 

The gavel hit the wood another time. Apparently, the jury had not wanted to give the same punishment to his aunt than to his uncle, but had still found a way to keep her locked in Azkaban for life... For no Muggle would live to see a hundred and thirty something years. Harry was relieved. He would never have to live with them again. Until that moment, he had feared that his status as the Boy-Who-Lived would enable his relatives to weasel out of this somehow. But, it seemed that for once the Wizarding World was willing to treat him like a teenager and not as a hero. Now, he hoped that they wouldn't be so hard on Dudley, who wasn't really responsible for the way his parents had raised him. His cousin had already replaced his mother on the platform, and Thickness was frowning at him, like he was unhappy about the result of the Wizengamot's vote. 

"Dudley Dursley, you have been cleared of all charges. Memories from this past month will be erased from your brain and replaced with ones appropriate for the Muggle World. As you are underage, our Office of Wizarding Child and Family Affairs will be cooperating with Muggle Social Services to find a suitable accommodation for you. We hope you will be able to separate yourself from the noxious influence of your parents' intolerance." 

For the last time of the day, the Ministry brought down his gravel. Immediately, the room erupted in chatter and shouts. Reporters were firing questions at Harry, Thickness, Petunia, Dudley -who was promptly removed from the room- the Aurors, and even the Weasleys, who had apparently been attending the trial together at the back of the room. Harry made a move toward them, but was immediately stopped by Mr Murray, who shook his head. Already pulling him toward the side door, he explained, with understanding and pity filtering through his voice,"Not before the rest of the hearings. Hopefully, you'll be able to see them in two days... I'm sorry. Let's get you back to Hogwarts. I'm sure you are quite tired after all that." 

As if the man's words had been laced with a mind spell, Harry suddenly felt all the tension of the day leave him, and his energy with it. He nodded weakly and let himself be manoeuvred into an elevator, then into the floo network. Once again, Dobby had waited for him and made sure he ended up in bed, fed and warm. What a strange day... Anger had apparently given him the strength to go through it, but once it had all been over, he had collapsed, like a soufflé, like a burst balloon. Even the memory of the energy that had carried him during the day was fading away and as he fell asleep, he wondered if it hadn't all been a dream. 

********** 

Wednesday, 28 August 1996, 9am  
Courtroom Ten, Ministry of Magic, London 

Mr. Murray's estimation of how long it would take before the hearings were over and he could see his friends again turned out to be slightly off. A week after the sentencing of the Dursleys, they were finally nearing the end of the listed witnesses. The entire Weasley family had been called to give testimony, as well as Hermione, Neville, Dean and Seamus, most of Hogwarts's staff, Remus, Moody, Mrs Figg, Fudge, Ollivander and Mrs Malkin -though in Harry's opinion, the last two were quite superfluous. The present day would be for Dumbledore, the man at the crux of the matter.  
Harry already knew that Dumbledore would not be charged with any criminal offence. It seemed as if the Order of the Phoenix had managed to hide a lot of evidence of his machinations, such as the fact that he had been aware of Sirius's innocence. Of course, the fact that most of the testifiers were part of or sympathisers of the Order had helped quite a lot. Not all, however, had been entirely loyal to the Headmaster. Or maybe the old man realised some facts were too well known so they couldn't cover them up. Most adults had acknowledged that they had had doubts about Harry's treatment at home and that they had taken them to Albus Dumbledore, as the child's magical guardian. Each time, the Light leader had assured them that he had someone looking out for Harry during summer, that all was well. That Harry was probably exaggerating as teenagers were prone to do. Maybe the Order's strategy was to report all the blame on Dumbledore's, whose political standing could probably weather it... Harry didn't know since he hadn't had any contact from anyone of the Order since his rescue. Not that they usually told him anything, anyway... 

A muted silence fell on the courtroom when Albus Dumbledore took his place on the platform. The muddled waters he was navigating in with this case had apparently not tarnished his aura. Or his robes, for that matter. He had come in stripped robes in various shades of blue and a matching pointed hat. For once, his demeanour was serious and no mischievous twinkle reflected in his eyes. 

"Do you confirm being Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, born on August the twelfth, eighteen eighty-one, in Mould-On-The-Wold?" 

"I do." 

"Do you swear on your honour to speak the whole truth and only the truth before this court?" 

"I do." 

"Do you confirm that you took up Harry James Potter's magical guardianship after his parents' death and held this role until your authority was suspended by the Office of Wizarding Child and Family Affairs on July the fifteenth, nineteen ninety-six?" 

"I do." 

"Do you confirm placing Harry James Potter with his aunt Petunia Dursley _née_ Evans after his parent's death and granting her and Vernon Dursley legal custody of the child?" 

"I do." 

"Were you aware, at any time, that the Dursleys were abusing Harry James Potter?" 

"I was aware that his living conditions were not ideal. However, I was not conscious that they actually mistreated him." 

"Could you please elaborate on what you thought to be his _not ideal_ living conditions?" 

"Well, I knew Petunia was quite scared of magic. She had been when her sister Lily was in Hogwarts. I had hoped she would overcome her fear for her nephew. Alas, I understood it had not been the case when I did not get any answer to Harry's school letters before his first year. But Harry never gave me any reason to think he was being abused. When he asked if he could not go back for the summer, I thought he was understandably jealous of his aunt and uncle's love for his cousin Dudley and aspired to similar familial love. I believed myself to be some kind of a parental figure for him, that he would tell me if his relatives went overboard. I guess he was just eager to please the adults around him that give him positive attention, as he did not get much as a child..." 

At this, Harry felt the sense of betrayal that seemed permanently attached to any thoughts about Dumbledore these days swell up immensely. He was going to pass him off as a love-craving and attention-seeking child to justify not taking all the hints of abuse he had gotten seriously! He could already hear reporters whispering excitedly behind him. 

"But did you not get worrying information from other sources? Madam Pomfrey, your school Mediwitch, and the Weasleys? Surely you could not write malnutrition as a childish exaggeration to get attention..." 

Obviously, Harry was not the only one thinking that blaming the victim was a bit too easy. The questions emanated from the plump wizard on the second row of the Wizengamot who was reacting indignantly to the Headmaster's declaration. Several others members of the court were nodding in agreement. 

"Yes, it would indeed have been a problem should he had gone back to live there for the long term. But for one month every year, with proper care and supervision by our wonderful Mediwitch during the rest of the time, it did not endanger Harry's life in any way. The events of this summer were unusual and unexpected, I assure you. I would never have believed that Mr Dursley was capable of such violence. And as you certainly remember, this violence was not directed uniquely toward Harry. He was simply the most convenient target for his anger at the time, but this man had altogether lost his mind. Sadly, those things happen..." 

"You mean to say that you knew young Potter was being abused, but decided it was unimportant because he did not live there permanently?" 

"No, not unimportant of course! The happiness of a child is never unimportant. But Harry Potter is not any child. He is the only one that ever defeated Voldemort, once as a baby and twice more since then. He is and has always been a primary target for Dark sympathisers. Thanks to the sacrifice of his mother, Harry was protected by extremely powerful wards as long as he lived with a blood relative through Lily. Sadly, Petunia and Dudley Dursley were the only ones that qualified. One's well-being is meaningless when one is dead. I did what was necessary to preserve his life first, his happiness second. I did what was necessary, for the greater good." 

Right, the greater good... Ms Hope threw a glare at Harry when he snorted a bit too noisily. Apparently, his reaction had not gone unnoticed by the Wizengamot members sitting closest to them. Most were frowning at him but one was looking from him to Dumbledore and back with a thoughtful look. 

The hearing went on and on until the Ministry called for a lunch break. The Wizengamot carefully interrogated the Headmaster on the protection wards he claimed had been in place at Privet Drive, on the dangerous situations that Harry had regularly encountered at Hogwarts-even if they didn't even know about half of them, on his thoughts on Harry's role in the war to come... Harry had gradually lost interest in the proceedings. It was obvious by then that the old man had the jury in his pocket. He misled everyone beautifully, and they believed him. Harry would probably end up back in his care by the end of the day... 

Dejected, Harry decided to zone out during the afternoon session so he wouldn't have to listen to Dumbledore's manipulations. One of the numerous skills he had learned at the Dursleys, not that he would ever thank them for that. He lost himself in a timeless mind world close to a trance. It was neither good nor bad, a space inhabited by his worst fears, his happiest memories, his dreams, where he could navigate according to his mood. These days he tended to be stuck in its darkest corners. It didn't matter. At least it was him, his own mind and nightmares. 

Of course, after a while, the outside would come and drag him back to its cruel world. This time, it was Mr Murray who shook his shoulder, because the hearing was over and they had to leave the room.  
Harry worried that he had missed the verdict. Luckily, the social worker had noticed that Harry had not been paying attention. He explained that Albus Dumbledore had just finished his statement and the jury would deliberate the following morning. They would possibly be called for the judgement announcement during the afternoon. The idea of a lay-in nearly got a smile out of Harry. Even if Dobby probably wouldn't let him sleep late, with the start of the school year so close. 

********** 

Thursday, 29 August 1996, 9pm  
Gryffindor Common Room, Hogwarts

"Well, people are stupid! Don't they realise that they basically just guaranteed him that he can do pretty much anything as long as he claims it's part of the war effort, and he'll get a slap on the wrist at most? Sometimes, I wonder if growing up with magic is addling some people's brain. But then I go back home and I'm reminded that the Muggle general population is just as inconsistent. It's depressing!" 

Both boys were biting their lips to stave off a laugh. She was raving again... But it was so annoying! All around her, adults didn't make any sense. How was she supposed to grow up? How was she supposed to shape her personality when her possible role models were inane? Sometimes she felt like adults were just overgrown children, egotistical and cruel, with a mask of reason.  
She crawled up the bed next to Harry, and gathered her friend in her arms, in a spontaneous momentum of tenderness. Soon, she felt his arms close around her and his head fall on her shoulder. After a few moments of hesitation, Ron joined the hug and they stayed like this, sharing their warmth and their love, until they started to fall asleep. Not wanting to stay alone for the night, Hermione curled up in the bed on the other side of Harry's from Ron.  
Right before she closed her eyes she whispered a promise to her best friend that she would always be there for him.  
  
"I still can't believe he did that!" 

"Yes, Ron, you've said it at least five times already. We are trying to cheer Harry up, here, remember?" 

Hermione cuffed her friend on the head and shot an apologetic look at Harry. 

"Right, sorry mate." 

Ron had least had the grace to look sheepish. Harry just gave him an half-shrug. 

They were sitting together on Harry's bed in the Gryffindor dorm. As everyone except for Professor Dumbledore had been left off with a mere admonishment, they had finally been allowed to talk to Harry. After much pestering, they had even managed to extract a permission to stay at Hogwarts until the start of the year from the OWCFA workers and Professor McGonagall. Mrs Weasley would shop for them and send their school supplies with Ginny on the Hogwarts Express. Ron and she had hoped their presence would bring Harry's mood up but even if he had assured them he was very happy to be with them, he didn't look the part.  
Ever since Dobby had settled them in the room with tea and sandwiches, Ron and she had done most of the conversation. Well, mostly Ron to be honest. His rant against the Dursleys seemed to know no end... At least he dared talk about it now. Before the trial, he had admitted to Hermione that he didn't dare mention them to Harry in his letters for fear he might fall apart. But Harry was not blowing up in anger nor breaking down into tears. He was sitting listlessly against the headboard, arms around his folded legs and head laid on his knees. He had not volunteered a single sentence since leaving the Ministry and even his answers to their direct questions were getting shorter and shorter. Even this seemed to cost him greatly. Maybe they should leave him to rest, after all, the last two weeks had probably been pretty hard on him... 

"So, what do you think is going to change this year, now that McGonagall has taken over Dumbledore?" 

Ron was obviously trying to find a subject less personal and painful for Harry. Hermione sighed and corrected him for the umpteenth time. 

" _Professor_ McGonagall, Ron. Especially now that she is Headmistress. And you know she might not stay... She only took the job temporarily until the Board can advertise the position and look into the candidates. According to _Hogwarts: a History_ , the procedure is heavily codified so the new Head probably won't be appointed before Christmas. And Professor McGonagall might apply for it, too." 

"God, I hope we don't get someone like Umbridge! I'd rather get homeschooled..." 

The corner of Harry's lip lifted slightly. Apparently, he was paying attention, even if he wasn't taking part in the discussion. Safe topic then, they could stick to it. 

"I guess at least the school will be much safer this year. I mean, how could none of us have ever wondered about everything that seemed to happen here before! Even if a magical schooling is due to be more hazardous than a Muggle one, students shouldn't be exposed to Cerberus or Dementors just be wandering the wrong hallway. To think that Professor Dumbledore was using the school as a training ground for you, as if you were just a weapon to be forged... I'm so sorry I didn't realise how he was ready to sacrifice you entirely for his _greater good_ , Harry..." 

"'s ok, Hermione." 

Another shrug from her friend. She _was_ sorry, though. She really should have recognised there was something fishy about the way Professor Dumbledore kept assuring everyone that Harry was alright, no matter what happened. 

"It's not Professor Dumbledore anymore, Hermione," Ron teased her. "He's been banned from teaching ever again, and from Hogwarts grounds. I'm pretty sure that means he's also being stripped of his title..." 

"Well, it's going to take some using to! And don't you think it's strange how they banned him from the school because they found him guilty of negligence as Harry's guardian and poor choices as the Headmaster, but they still think he is qualified as a Chief Warlock and Supreme Mugwump? If he is not considered fit to run a school, how can he be fit to be part of the ruling body of a country?" 

"Nah, makes perfect sense for me. I mean, they recognise that he did what he thought was best and that he is playing a huge part in the war effort. They just don't trust him not to drag kids into the conflict. I mean, he's been pretty clear on the fact that he will do whatever he thinks is necessary to win the war, no matter the cost. He is not ashamed of it. You may not agree with him, but it still, it appeals to the people. They are terrified of You-Know-Who and they are desperate for a strong leader..." 

Hermione shared a flabbergasted look with Harry. While they knew Ron was far from stupid, he still rarely used his brains for anything else than chess and finding food. Out of the three, Hermione was usually the one to pay attention to politics and analyse behaviours. 


	7. The new Dark Lord

Saturday, 24 August 1996, 9pm  
Dinner Room, Riddle House, Little Hangleton 

Lord Voldemort smiled to his followers. It was the first time he met with them since he had gathered the Horcruxes and fused most of his soul back together. The restoration had done wonders for his looks. Voldemort had never been vain, but he knew first hand how much a charming appearance could do when one tried to manipulate those around him. His new body... It was perfection. He had regained most of his natural features, making him once more a charismatic and attractive man. However, he was not exactly the same as before. His skin was whiter than it had been when he was young, but of an healthier hue than after his resurrection. Subtle marks of ageing adorned his face, granting him with, in Severus's words, an aura of wiseness he did not have before. And his eyes, his trademark, had kept their vivid red.  
Those eyes were now sweeping over his gathered supporters. One of them had had the audacity to remark on his new appearance and several others had snickered or whispered their assent. Evidently, they were under the misconception that his more human looks allowed them to disrespect him. Fools! His smile twisted into a sneer and the idiot fell dead on the floor. All eyes flew to him and to his wand, still laying on his armrest. In the tensed silence of the room, he relished in the smell of sweat and fear permeating the air.  
Oh, they would understand quickly that they should fear him as much, if not more, than when he was half-snake half-man. But they would learn to respect him again, he would make sure of that. In his Pensieve, he had been able to watch his past behaviour with a clear mind. He had been appalled by his erratic and gratuitously vicious demeanour. It was a wonder most of his followers were still breathing. Fear was a powerful way to control people, but a rule established purely on terror was fragile: it only took one man braver than the rest for the empire to plummet. Common values, a shared ideal, _this_ was a lasting cement! A tyrant only had enemies. A leader had crowds ready to throw themselves in the way of a spell to protect their life. And what he has seen in his Pensieve, was a tyrant.  
His enhanced magic would go a long way to earn his troops' respect again and establish himself as their leader. It had been an unexpected but in no way unwelcome effect of the rituals he had done to mend his soul. With every incorporated Horcrux, his magical power had surged. It seemed that the multiplication of Horcruxes had not only impacted his sanity, it had also required a tremendous amount of magic to continuously feed the link between the separate parts of his soul. As a result, he was nearly twice as powerful as a month previous. He had required a few days to adapt to this new amount of power. After all, he had not been used to objects soaring toward him the moment he wished for them, or for his tea to liquify its kettle because of an overpowered warming charm. But these inconveniences were worth it: he could now cast any straightforward spell wandlessly and wordlessly. Complex enchantments still required him to focus his power through words and his wand, but why bother with complex when you could kill someone with a mere though and a pulse of magic?  
Due to his unstable magic, the Dark Lord had not called for a gathering since starting to gather his Horcruxes. This was the first time the Death Eaters saw his new body, the first time they witnessed his improved magic. He intended to use this meeting to breath a new life into their movement. It was high time they stopped playing Dumbledore's game! 

After a few more minutes, he decided he had let his followers stew for long enough. It wouldn't do for one of them to piss themselves out of fear... 

"Well, well, well, my dear followers. It has come to my attention that some of you are not as dedicated to our cause as they appear to be... They do not trust we will prevail, or they regard our fight as only a mean to their egoistical end." 

There, he paused to look at each Death Eater in the room, scanning their minds with a touch of Legilimency. He would have to get rid of any members he could not control reliably... As for the others, a few rewards and punishments would keep them on the right track, no matter their true believes.  
His eyes fell on a voluminous figure near the back of the room, whose head was down. A subtle push of magic and he forced the reluctant one to lift his head and meet his eyes. How convenient non-verbal and wandless Unforgivables were... Before, he would have had to bring everyone's attention to the defiance against him, by either calling the miscreant's name out -but recognising a masked lower rank Death Eater among the masses was a pain- or casting some curse at him for disrespect. But now, he could manipulate a man like a puppet without anyone the wiser.  
His victim was so properly terrified that he had to use his Imperius control over them to regulate their breathing, else they fainted before he could get the information he needed. The man was a new recruit, fresh out of Hogwarts, from some secondary branch of a minor pureblood family. He was struggling desperately to hide the fact that his intended was a Half-Blood with a Muggle-born mother, who he loved dearly. Lord Voldemort huffed inwardly. How could one join a movement for blood purity and still congress with Muggle-borns and Muggles as if they were equals? Well, at least this was an easily resolved conflict. He would simply order the fool to dissolve his commitment with his betrothed and observe a more appropriate behaviour toward his lessers. However, this would wait until the Dark Lord could have one of his Inner circle relay the command. When his round over the crowd was done, he spoke up once again.

"We are nearing our goal. Now is not the time for petty arguments and selfish plotting: when we will have defeated Dumbledore and his pitiful clique of Muggle-lovers, when we will have taken back our rightful place in the world, then we may self-indulge. Until that time, I will have no patience nor pity for treason and ambivalence. Am I understood?" 

Before him, his followers were rushing to nod or voice their agreement. 

"There will be no more foolish initiative from your part. You will be severely punished if you engage in independent action, be it against Wizards, Creatures or Muggles. Any plan must be approved by either one of my Inner circle or myself. Do not think you will be exempt from this rule because of how brilliant you believe your ideas to be. You do not have access to the bigger picture and might foil more important plans by taking action on your own.  
I have made significant changes to the way our forces are organised. You will receive individual instructions or summons in the following week. If you have questions or reasonable objections about your assignments, report to whoever is indicated as in charge of your group in the message you received.  
Now, on to specific rewards and punishments. As you may know, the Carrows have skillfully negotiated with the Dementors and we have gained control over Azkaban, as well as powerful and terror-inducing allies. Alecto, Amycus, you may each chose a prisoner during our next raid to take home and have fun with. I trust you to suitably dispose of their bodies, of course.  
Severus, my loyal friend, come forth." 

He waited until the Potion Master had kneeled at his feet and kissed the bottom of his robes. 

"Let it be said that your discernment and wits are crucial to our cause. For giving me back my human body and unlocking my deeper powers, you deserve a generous reward. I have found a ritual that allows one to share a dream with a dead of their choice. Of course, it is extremely demanding of the caster, but I believe it is fair that you benefit from my increased powers. I will invoke it for you on All Hallows Eve." 

Ever composed, Severus thanked him gracefully. Of course, the announcement did not come as a surprise for him, as the Dark Lord had already discussed his reward with him. He was only renewing the offer as a show for his other followers. His promise would impress and encourage, as well as establish Potion Master Snape as a valued element of his organisation. The same as he would now stripe the Malfoy family of their standing among the Death Eaters.. 

He dismissed his favorite with a glance and called Lucius to take his place. The Malfoy patriarch seemed quite worse for wear after his sojourn on the prison island. He had lost much of his imperturbable stature and was displaying obvious signs of his discomfort as his Lord was surveying him silently. 

"Lucius, Lucius... I am heavily disappointed in you. You had but one task, to retrieve the Prophecy, and you were outplayed by a handful of schoolchildren. A disgrace to your blood really... Hopefully, your son will uphold you name in your place. I have a mission for him, a very important mission. I am doing your family a great honour by entrusting such a crucial assignment to someone as young as he is. I will even offer you a chance to redeem yourself, that is how much I value you. I am a generous master, am I not Lucius?" 

He let the wizard wallow in abject grovelling for a few moments. Yes, he would make a perfect replacement for Wormtail... Of course, any menial task assigned to the Malfoy patriarch would be delegated immediately to his army of house elves, but it would still be highly symbolic! And if Lucius still did not get the message, he could kill the elves... 

"I find myself in need of a new... personal helper, after Wormtail's unfortunate demise. Of course, it would not be convenient for you to be moving back and forth between here and your home, so I will be moving to Manor Malfoy. It will also be a much more suitable headquarters." 

He heard a few repressed snickers in the crowd. Obviously some delighted in the haughty man's downfall. Well, he had it coming.  
Nagini choose that moment to slither through the room, circle once around the kneeling form of Lucius and climb on Voldemort's lap. 

*I'm hungry, Massster. Can I eat one of thhhem? Thhhhe little rat-man wasss too long ago, and thhhhe elvvvvessss won't feed me anythhhing bigger thhhan ssshhheepsss... It'sssss not fffffun!* 

Voldemort nearly rolled his eyes. When he had retrieved the Horcrux kept in Nagini, he had decided to keep the snake around both as a companion against loneliness and as part of his commanding persona. However, without his influence in her mind, she was turning out to be a slightly whiny and very high maintenance pet. Thank Merlin that he was an accomplished Occlumens and had no trouble locking the link the removal of the Horcrux had left between their two minds, or he would have had to suffer constant complaints about the quality of her food and the cold in the decrepit house... 

*You may eat the dead idiot, over there, but you have to wait until my soldiers leave,* he answered back in Parseltongue, pointing toward his victim from earlier in the meeting. 

Of course, she complained about her meal not being live stock, but he blocked her out. Now, he had to quickly expedite the rest of his punishments so she could eat. The Death Eaters in front of him were already unsettled enough by her presence, he didn't want to have to conduct the end of his meeting with followers being sick left and right because she was eating one of their comrades in front of them... Such a show was reserved for strayers, as a reminder of what awaited them if they displeased him, and for his closest minions, as a test of strength.  
He sent Lucius away and dealt with the other failures from the Ministry Debacle. He would need to keep a close eye on Bellatrix. It was clear the woman in front of him was not sane in the least and as such, she was unreliable.  
He dismissed everyone by reminding them they would receive instruction soon and instructing Lucius to ready the manor for his arrival the following day. As soon as the last black figure Apparated away, Nagini sprang toward the fallen man and proceeded to fill her stomach with his corpse. 

********** 

Monday, 16 August 1996, 3pm  
Lord Voldemort's study, Honor Guest Suit, Malfoy Manor 

A weak knock on the door made him pause in his reading. These reports were annoyingly incomplete anyway, and he had just been considering burning them and asking their authors for a new version, a proper one this time... 

"Enter. " 

A very pale Draco Malfoy came through the door and stood right before it after closing it delicately. 

"Ah, yes, young Draco, come in." 

The teenager hesitated, walked a few strained steps closer, and stopped a good few meters away from Voldemort's desk. That wouldn't do. He lifted one eyebrow at the reticent young man and stressed: 

"Now." 

This time, Draco rushed to stand right in front of the work table, nearly touching it. He was very bravely trying to maintain a respectful but blank front, but was betrayed by his hands shaking madly against his sides. Well, at least he did not have to impress this one with the need to be respectful and obedient. However, he had expected a miniature version of his father, full of himself and his family name. He would need to adapt his strategy. The lecture on his family's current stand in his books and how his parents' life rested on his shoulders was probably overboard. He didn't care for a tearful and sniveling brat in his study! Best keep it to the point, then. 

"Your father has probably informed you that I have a mission for you. I want you to befriend Harry Potter. If you think it necessary, you might lead Potter to believe that you wish to defect to the Light and require sanctuary from your father and myself. However, I expect you to probe him to know if it would be possible to bring him to our side and what it would take.  
Severus is aware of your assignment and will do what he may to help you. He will also report to me on your progress during the semester, but I expect a full update from you at Christmas. Avoid the subject as needed in your letters to your family, if you think it would make Dumbledore suspicious should your correspondance be intercepted. Do you understand?" 

Young Malfoy nodded frightfully before correcting himself and assenting verbally. He was out the moment the Dark Lord gave him lead to, making the latter chuckle quietly at the impressionability of the youth. 


	8. The offer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi dear readers,  
> I'm without a beta again, so if anyone feels like taking the mantle, I'd be forever grateful!  
> And bigs thanks to all the comments and kudos!

Sunday, 1 September 1996, 7pm  
Great Hall, Hogwarts

The mood of the Start-of-Term feast was not as festive as usual, with the absence of Dumbledore, the return of Moody as Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor after the fiasco of their Fourth Year, the void left by the Weasley twins at the Gryffindor table and the war looming over their head. It suited Harry fine, he was not in a cheerful mood anyway. Having his friends with him for the last few days had been nice, but he had no idea how he was going to survive a week of classes, let alone a year. Hermione's theory was that mental tiredness was self-feeding and that once he was back on the school routine he would be feeling much more like himself. Ron just thought that Quidditch and food could make everything better. Harry himself found thinking about it to be too much already...  
After the Sorting, which had seen nine new students in each house, and the traditional speech from the Head of the school, announcing Moody's return and nomination as the temporary Head of Gryffindor House, as well as Flitwick's appointment as interim Deputy Headmaster, the Gryffindors assaulted Harry with questions about his summer and the trial. Most wanted to know how he was holding up, if he thought that Dumbledore should have stayed the Headmaster, and if they could give Dudley a taste of his own medecine as he had gotten off unscathed, but some were downright intrusive. Why would they care about his cupboard or if he planned on seeing a shrink? Harry wasn't going to answer any of the questions in any case. They had discussed it with Hermione and Ron and gathered that anything he said would probably end up distorted in the school's rumour mill or the media. So the plan was to ignored anyone who asked about it and concentrate on schoolwork -Hermione's input- for the first few weeks. It did take a few minutes of stubborn silence and focussed eating -or mindless smashing of potatoes on Harry's part- for the others to take the hint. After that, though, they turned their discussions elsewhere and Harry was finally able to not-eat in relative peace, expect for the regular prompt from Hermione to actually put some food in his mouth instead of just pushing it around. He obeyed because he knew that if he didn't eat at least a little, Dobby would show up later in his dorm with a snack and not leave until he complied. Really, mother hens, the both of them...

Finally, they were able to leave the Great Hall and go to their dorms. Harry stuck with the group of dumbstruck First years as Ron and Hermione led them to Gryffindor Tower. The kids were too much in awe of him to pester him, at least for now, so they were safe. And he didn't want to end up in his dorm without the shielding presence of Ron. Neville would never push for personal information or blame Harry for not being up to task as the Boy-Who-Lived, but Dean and Seamus were not always the most subtle and respectful of one's personal space.

**********

Monday, 2 September 1996, 2pm  
Potions Classroom, Hogwarts

Snape strode inside his classroom and sneered at his students. In order to facilitate Draco's mission, he had reluctantly agreed to lower his requirements for NEWT classes to Exceeding Expectations. Dumbledore would probably be overjoyed to hear that considering the inflexible Potion Master had finally relented and allowed more students to take the class. McGonagall herself had approved the change, stressing that the sixth and seventh years were more than likely to be involved in the war and it was dangerous to deprive them of the possibility to become Aurors. Severus had not bothered to point out that for each Auror in the making in the sixth year class, there was probably a future Death Eater. He had decided earlier on that he would not let politics or even house rivalry interfere with NEWT level classes. Those hours were exclusively for the art of potion making, and one of the only reasons he could stand the pressure that came from spying for both sides of the war.  
And now, he would have to withstand two more years -provided the Dark Lord did not kill the brats first- of the hot-headed Weasley, the know-it-all and Holy Potter. What he wouldn't do for the cause...

As usual, he forewent all pleasantries to go straight to the point as he started the first class of the year. Not only did it keep his students on their toes, but it also spared him the need to try and behave like he was happy to see them.

"NEWT-level potions are incredibly difficult compared to what you have brewed until now. I have no doubt that most of you will never in your life be able to prepare them correctly, but alas I must endeavour for you to be at least able to brew them without endangering your life or that of the people around you. There has never been a dead student in this class since I starting teaching and I do not intend for any of you to be the first!  
Therefore, I expect you to come prepared to each and every session. Every week I will announce the potion or part of the potion scheduled for the next class. Before moving to the practical part, I will interrogate you on your knowledge. If you are not able to readily recount the brewing steps or to demonstrate understanding of the principles involved, you will spend the lesson reviewing instead of brewing, in addition to having a week of detention with me. I will not tolerate any fooling around or laziness. If the work is too much for you, you are very welcome to drop the course."

He paused shortly, glaring at the gathered teenagers as if trying to scare them off, before addressing the next subject matter, the crux of why he was deigning to have Potter and his red-haired shadow around.

"For this year, you will be paired up according to your weaknesses and strengths. Take advantage of what your partner may teach you, as Seven year is purely individual work to prepare for the exams. I will hear no complaint whatsoever while I announce the pairings and I expect you to move efficiently to match them. Today you will brew Amortentia, as it is one of the only potions on your curriculum that does not require several lessons to make. This is the last time books will be allowed during the class. You may start ahead as soon as you are settled with your partner. Granger, Macmillan. Zabini, Patil. Malfoy, Potter. Boot, Corner..."

As he read the rest of the list, he kept his eyes on Potter and his godson. The latter had obviously understood at once the reasons behind his Professor's decision, but the Gryffindor, as usual, did not appear to have been paying attention, as he was slouching on his stool, head bowed, instead of moving next to Draco. Snape restrained himself before taking the first point of the year from the impudent child as Draco discretely signalled him that he would move over and deal with Potter.

**********

Monday, 2 September 1996, 2h15pm  
Potions Classroom, Hogwarts

Harry was desperately struggling to stay awake on his stool. This morning, a double Defense lesson of hell, and now, Potions. Luckily he had been able to nap through his free time, but soon work would be piling up and said free time wouldn't be so free anymore. Someone definitively didn't want him to make it through the week, planning two hours of Moody and an afternoon of Snape first thing in the week. Or maybe the plan was to gather all the crazy teachers on the same day so the students would not have to fear for their life the whole week? But in that case, they should have put Trelawney elective on Monday too.  
Unsurprisingly, Snape had been going on and on about how difficult NEWT-level potions were and how he expected them to fail. Cheerful as usual. His teammate was not too astonishing either. The bastard loved to make the Gryffindors suffer.  
Movement on his side.

"Hi Potter."

Uh? Oh, right, partners, so they had to seat together. And talk. With some luck Malfoy would deem him too stupid to take responsibilities and he could just follow the Slytherin's lead.

"Hi Malfoy."

"So, have you had a look at the recipe yet?"

Harry looked down at his closed manual and shook his head. What were they brewing again?

"Ok, let's go to the ingredients cupboard together then. Bring your book with you."

Harry turned toward Malfoy with a surprised look in his eyes. He had kind of expected to be belittled and mocked, not this matter-of-fact, almost helpful reaction. The other rose an eyebrow, as if to challenge the Gryffindor to complain about his attitude. Oh, well, if he could avoid petty conflicts and focus what little energy he had on classes, Harry wasn't going to object.

They got into the ingredients pantry, where Malfoy had Harry read the list out loud while he picked them up from the jars, before moving back to their working bench with their booty. Once again, Malfoy broke the tense silence between them.

"Want to prepare the ingredients, I'll add them in?"

"Alright."

Harry checked the instructions in his book and set to dice the root of asphodel as described on the first line. Or apparently not as described because Malfoy interrupted him before he had even finished his first root. The older boy pointed to Harry's work, seemingly hesitating between annoyance and bewilderment.

"What's that?"

"Err. Diced asphodel root."

"As in root of asphodel cut up into dices? Because, I'm very sorry to crush your hopes, Potter, but a dice is supposed to be in a cube shape. Yours are random shapes of variable sizes."

Somehow, even if Malfoy's irritation was evident, his words didn't convey their usual disdain. And, to be honest, the asphodel bits were not anywhere close from regular cubes, but they had never been. Not that Harry saw why it mattered, but it obviously did matter for Malfoy. However, his blank look most have clued the light-haired boy as to his partner's ignorance, as he sighted and pulled Harry's cutting board toward him.

" I'll take care of it, get the juice from the berries, ok?"

"Sure..."

He grabbed the bowl of midnight berries and moved to crunch them in his mortar. Malfoy immediately intercepted his pestle. They were never going to make any progress with their potion if the prat kept interrupting!

"What now?"

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, I am. There's nothing wrong with my crushing. It's just berries, I know how to crush them..."

"Merlin, you really are! There's nothing wrong with your crushing, Potter, expect that you're not supposed to use a mortar for it, not for midnight berries anyway."

"And what am I supposed to use, then, if not a mortar, ô Great Potion Master!"

Malfoy was starting to get on his nerves, really! Couldn't he just leave him be? But the older teen refused to take the bait.

"Think about it that way, Potter: what is going to happen when you are going to pour the juice from the mortar?"

Now he wanted to play teacher...

"I have no idea what you want me to say, Malfoy! I've always been collecting juice just fine this way..."

"You will pour all kind of impurities such as small pieces of skin, dirt particles... And they will interfere with the chemical processus during the brewing. A mortar is fine when you juice slugs, for exemple, or anything that does not require a clear juice. But for delicate ingredients as midnight berries, it's much better to grind them directly in a tight sieve. Of course, you can crush them in the mortar and transfer the liquid through the sieve afterwards, but you loose precious time and juice that way."

Harry looked at the berries and then at Malfoy again.

"Oh, it makes sense. But still, you didn't have to act like I'm a stupid First year!"

There, the Slytherin rolled his eyes.

"This _is_ First year knowledge, Potter. How you managed to get an EE for your OWL is beyond me, but then, those details are not crucial for most of the OWL-level potions. However, from now on, they will be, so please ask if you're not entirely sure how to do things, ok?"

Feeling slightly humiliated, Harry gave Malfoy a deadly glare and shrugged his shoulders. At least, Snape was berating Ron on the other side of the room for his potion which was already the wrong color, so he had no witnessed the scene, or he would probably have added his own two cents.

"If you're not satisfied with the way I prep ingredients, maybe we should switch roles? Or do you not trust me to put stuff in a cauldron and mix?"

Apparently, that made his partner realize that he had been a bit patronizing, for he tried to soften his answer with humour and a smile.

"Well, describing it like that is not making me trust you, you know... But alright, let's change, if you'd feel more conformable that way."

So they exchanged seats and Harry started his watch over the boiling water. Soon, Malfoy passed him the -perfectly diced- roots of asphodel to add into it. Not much way to get this one wrong, as the book specified it was to be put into the cauldron in one go and left to boil heavily for ten minutes. He cast a Tempus as he dropped the roots into the water.

After their rocky beginning, the duo was finally able to settle into work. Until Malfoy checked their cauldron while bringing the Doxy wings to Harry, that is.

"The colour is wrong."

It looked fine to Harry, a deep green as stated in the manual, but Malfoy took the ladder from his hand and started to mix the concoction vigorously while muttering under his breath. After a few minutes -a welcomed break for Harry who started nodding against the work bench- the Slytherin finally appeared satisfied with the tint of the potion. He was not, however, satisfied with Harry, who was rudely dragged from his doze by a finger in his chest.

"How long did you wait between the asphodel roots and the berry juice?"

"Ten minutes, that's what it says in the book!" he defended himself.

"Obviously, you didn't, else this wouldn't have happened... How did you measure those ten minutes?"

"The way one measures ten minutes without a watch! I cast a Tempus when I added the roots, then another one from time to time until I saw it had been ten minutes since I had put them in..."

"Except I guess it wasn't ten minutes sharp, right?"

"Of course not, I think it was eleven minutes or something, but what's important was that I had left them there for ten minutes at least. Isn't it?"

Harry was beginning to wonder if Malfoy didn't have some kind of obsessive disorder, with the way he wanted everything to be perfect. But then, his potions always turned out great, while Harry's were passable at best, and he knew it wasn't just because of Snape's preferential treatment.

"Potter, I hate to crush your beliefs, but precision does matter in this case. That's why the time is underlined in the recipe, see?" he asked pointing to the corresponding line on the page. "Anything that is underlined means it has to be precise to the best of your magical abilities, be it times, temperatures or quantities. So when it says ten minutes underlined, it means to you have to set a timer that will add the juice after ten minutes exactly, or if you don't know such a spell, at least set a timer to nine minutes and fifty seconds so when it goes off you know to add the berry juice after ten seconds. Didn't you ever read the notice at the end of our manuals?"

The green-eyed Gryffindor slumped down on his stool and took his head in his hands, groaning. It was all so complicated! And how was he to know all that? He may not always have payed attention to everything Snape said, but surely something that important would have been repeated over and over. Or maybe not, considering Snape didn't believe in pedagogy... But then, Hermione should have pointed out what Ron and he did wrong. She certainly didn't restrain herself from doing so for other subjects.

"You know what?"

Malfoy sounded very smug about something. Harry really didn't want to know what, but he obliged with another groan.

"I can tutor you. You obviously missed quite a few essentials in our first years, but class is not the time to go over it, so we can work on it together. If I ask him, Professor Snape will probably allow us to use one of the practice labs. I'm sure you'll be up to task in no time. And since I would be saving your Potion NEWT, you should help me in return. You saw this morning that I am never going to be able to learn anything in Professor Maugrey's class, he's just going to hex me left and right as a demonstration. Failing is not an option for me, and as you're the best of our year, I am willing to let you tutor me in Defense. An exchange of knowledge, how does that sound?"

It sounded like more classes to Harry. No way he was going to load his schedule more than strictly necessary! Especially to spend time one on one with Draco Malfoy.

"I think I'll ask Hermione for help in Potions. Don't worry Malfoy, I'll improve, I won't ruin your year."

"That wasn't why I was offering! Like I said, it would be a mutual..."

He was cut off by Snape looming over them, looking critically at their simmering potions. The greasy man completely ignored Harry as he commented:

"Passable, Mr Malfoy. I expect better from you. I would advise adding one more Doxy wing."

After Malfoy put the said wing in the cauldron, they went back to their work in silence. Every now and then, the Pureblood teenager would make a quiet comment on Harry's actions, but he didn't make a lesson out of it as before. For the sensitive part of the brewing, they switched places again, Harry taking over the tedious but easy task of gathering the thorns from fresh roses. He soon got lost in the repetitive exercise. His mind wandered to Malfoy's behaviour. It was strange, at times, he had sounded almost friendly. Civil, for sure, while Harry had been convinced he would make the most of this opportunity to insult him at every turn. Maybe the Slytherin had matured during the summer, or because of what had happened at the Ministry. Or maybe he honestly wanted to share his love for Potions with anyone that would listen, no matter if it was his years-long Gryffindor rival. Snape, too, was asking kind of different now that he thought about it... Oh, he was done cutting the thorns off the stems.  
He stood up to bring them to his partner, who signalled him that he could drop them directly in the cauldron. They cascaded down into the mixture... and the knife followed them, sliding out of Harry's grip which had been clumsy and stiff from all the cutting.

Malfoy reacted instantly, throwing a containment charm before dropping to the ground and dragging Harry with him with a shout:

"Down!"

Around them, their classmates flattened themselves to the ground quickly. A tensed second went by, everybody turning their head to look at them. Then a column of black fire exploded upward from their cauldron, severely scorching the ceiling. It only lasted a moment, but it was impressive and Harry was terribly glad for Malfoy's quick reflexes. Without his charm, they could have ended roasted by the flames. Of course, they now had to survive Snape's fury, as the man had stood up for his crouch behind his desk already and was now striding toward them angrily.

"Potter, Malfoy, out! I'll see you in detention after dinner to clean up your disaster. Out, now!!"

Harry didn't wait for him to repeat himself and scurried up from the ground, grabbed his bag and nearly ran out of the classroom. Malfoy was following him closely, but he ignored him and started the track up to Gryffindor Tower. This, however, did not seem to suit the collateral victim of his last potion mishap, for the other grabbed his shoulder and turned him around.

"Either you accept my offer for tutoring, or you drop out of Potions. You're a menace Potter, and I intend to survive this school year. So make your choice, but it cannot go on like this..."

Like Harry didn't realize that. He shrugged off the hand on his shoulder and mumbled a noncommittal "I'll think about it" before walking away again. Thankfully, Malfoy left it at that.  
Monday was not even over, but he was already in deep shit...


	9. The explosion

Thursday, 5 September 1996, 3 pm  
Spare potions lab, Dungeons Four, Hogwarts  
  
Draco sighed. Potter's potions skills were abysmal... No precision at all, no understanding of what was happening in his cauldron and how ingredients interacted together! He was working on the First Year potion Draco had assigned to him, the Cure for Boils, well... like a First year student. In addition to his obvious shortcomings in theory and practical aspects of potion making, the Gryffindor also displayed a disheartening lack of interest in what he was doing. Draco had already had to warn in twice because he was lost in thoughts and didn't notice his cauldron overflowing. Merlin, he had his work cut out for him!  
At least, now that they were not set on antagonising each other, Potter was actually tolerable. Of course, there was no way Draco would be willing to sacrifice most of his free time for Potter if not for the assignment the Dark Lord had given to him, but he could still appreciate that his once rival was not the arrogant and ill-mannered idiot he had always claimed him to be.

Potter was finally done with his potion and Draco helped him clean up the space while explaining what he had done wrong -the main points at least. His student was nodding and humming whenever he paused but Draco wasn't convinced that he really understood things. The Slytherin was starting to wonder if the tutoring was such a good idea. He had somewhat bullied Potter into agreeing during their common detention on Monday night, asking repeatedly until the other gave in, but they weren't going to go anywhere if his classmate didn't put more energy and motivation into it. Maybe Potter would implicate himself more if they did potions that might be of use to him... Yes, he would ask Severus for advice about that.

Once the lab was back to the state they had found it in, they left and Draco left the door behind them. Usually, they would have to bring back the key to the Potions Professor after each session in the lab, but since they were going to make regular use of it and not many people required use of the spare labs this early in the year, Severus had agreed to entrust Draco with the key for as long as they needed it. Thinking about it made Draco curious as to where they would meet for Defense tutoring. Unlike for Potions, there was no spare training room for Defense against the Dark Arts, as it was considered too dangerous for students to practise on their own. Never mind that their insane teacher had encouraged them to do exactly that...

"So, Potter, where are we meeting on Saturday for Defense?"

"Uh. Room of Requirement, I think. No one will mind if we use it, and it can provide us with everything we need. By the way... I really tried to talk them out of it, but Ron and Hermione are set against the two of us training alone, just in case a spell goes wrong. I'm sorry. So, we're making in a four people thing, can you come with a friend? Hermione's volunteered to team up with you, of course, but I thought it would be fairer if we each came with someone..."

Meddlesome Gryffindors!

"Honestly, Potter, I don't know if you're talking about a double date or a duel to the death, the way you speak about it... It's alright, I'll ask one of my housemates, probably Blaise or Pansy. I don't see them passing up an opportunity to train with the famous Boy-Who-Lived."

"If you starting calling me names, Malfoy, I'll blow all of ours potions just to piss you off!"

Morgana, the kid was easily set off. And he had no sense of humour or at least no take on the Slytherin subtle brand of humour.

"Chill, Potter, just joking. I don't know what I'm more grateful for: you accepting my help in Potions, or you tutoring me in Defense. Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow in class. I have an Ancient Runes study group in a few minutes, so I need to move."

He was already halfway down the hallway when he heard the Gryffindor call out:

"Thanks, Malfoy. For the lesson."

Yeah, couldn't sound any more convinced...

**********

Thursday, 5 September 1996, 4 pm  
Gryffindor Common Room, Hogwarts

Harry trudged back inside the Common Room, glad to be done for the day. Hermione jumped from the couch the moment she saw him, sending the book that had laid open on her knees tumbling down the floor. She cast a diagnostic spell on him while Ron and Ginny fired questions about his well-being and "the ferret's evil plans" too fast for him to answer. He had to wait a long moment for them to calm down before he was able to cross the room to the couch Hermione and Ron had recently vacated. He sprawled on it and made a show of putting Hermione's book to right as he reassured them.

"I'm ok, guys. Seriously, one would think I'm coming back from a battle front, the way you smother me. We have talked about it already, Malfoy does not have some nefarious plan to off me while teaching me Potions! He and I talked after detention and I really believe him to be sincere. You even had me checked by Pomfrey for compulsion charms, for God's sake, why can't you trust me?! I'm not going to follow him blindfolded into the Forbidden Forest or I don't know what... Or maybe you are jealous because I'm making friends outside of Gryffindor? Is that it? What do you plan to do, shackle me to your hand or something?? I'm my own man, if I want to study with Malfoy, you can't stop me!"

By the end of his rant, he was screaming. He had stood up at some point but had to flop back into the couch as his limbs started shaking severely and he was overcome by a dizzy spell. Damn, he hadn't meant to blow up at them like that! He had promised himself he would be mature about his friends' concern and take it without complaining. But from one sentence to another, what he was saying had just seemed to get out of his control. Sure, he wished for them to lay down a bit on the Malfoy issue, but he was grateful they cared about him enough to worry and pester him like that. And anyway, the common room was not the place to air their dirty laundry in public...  
He lifted his head from where he had hidden it in his hands and risked a look at his friends. Ron was staring at him with his mouth hanging open, Hermione's eyes were moist with unshed tears and Ginny was scowling at him, hands on her hips, ready to tell him off in her mother's fashion. Shit!

"Guys, I'm sorry. I just... I don't know, I'm just so sorry, I didn't mean to blow up in your face like that."

One quick glance around the common room, and sure enough, everybody was quiet and trying to look like they were not listening when they were quite obviously waiting for the next development. And the exhaustion was creeping back and he just realised that he had not been feeling this awake in weeks, month. But it was over already, this breeze of energy, leaving him even more bereft than before.  
Something must have shown on his face because instead of the terrible storm that he had seen brewing in Ginny's eyes, the quiet silent staring was broken by Hermione.

"I believe we should apologise too... Maybe we have been nagging a bit too much. But you know it's because we care for you right? We're just worried..."

Harry gave a small nod. Yes, he did know that. It would probably get them killed, but they cared, no one could deny it. After another awkward pause, his friend reached for her book and sat down next to him.

"Well, let's study then. The N.E.W.T are less than two years away, there's no time to waste! Ron, are you done with your Transfiguration essay? You said you wanted me to have a look at it before handing it in, and it's due tomorrow."

Harry glimpsed at Hermione. She was acting quite convincingly as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, but Harry could see that her eyes were still shining with unshed tears and her hands were shaking slightly as she grabbed for her quill. He whispered quiet thanks to her as he got his own Herbology book out of his bag. There was no way he would be able to study right now but he should at least act the part.

**********

Saturday, 7 September 1996, 1:50pm  
Gryffindor Common Room, Hogwarts  
  
As Ron was moving to follow Harry out of the common room, he felt Hermione grab his sleeve and whisper.

"Please remember, look out for him, but don't imply that Malfoy is out for him or anything. And send a Patronus for back-up if you need help, okay?"

"I can handle them, Hermione. Trust me, they won't even dare to try anything! I'll see you for dinner."

He crossed the door frame and had to break into a light jog to catch up with Harry, who apparently hadn't noticed him being delayed at the portrait. His friend was really out of it these days. Pomfrey had told them that he was just grieving, that it was entirely normal when he and Hermione had gone to her about their worries, but Ron still couldn't get used to seeing Harry struggle through his days like that. Man, he looked like an Inferius most of the time, and Merlin knew that that was far from a compliment. The only time when he actually showed any life was when he lost his temper, something that seemed to be happening more and more since the beginning of the year. He would get at them for ridiculous things, how Neville wouldn't pass the pudding fast enough or how Hermione was an annoying Know-It-All because she made a comment on the poor quality of his Transfiguration essay -like she hadn't been doing that for years...  
And that thing with Malfoy... Ron couldn't see anything good coming out of it. The ferret obviously had some evil plan, but Harry wouldn't hear a thing about it. So now Ron was stuck on bodyguard duties because there was no way they would let Harry duel with Malfoy with no one to watch his back. And he and Hermione had agreed that while she had much better grades in Defense, thanks to her intensive studying, he was actually quicker on his feet when it came to practice. Not by much, but in battle, it would still make a difference.

They reached the corridor on the Seventh Floor a few minutes late, due to the disorderly behaviour of the stairs and Peeves dismantling every and each armour in a Fourth Floor hallway, covering the floor with the ancient metal pieces. Malfoy was already there, with one of his goons. Zabini, he was pretty sure the guy was called. Not Goyle or Crabbe, then. The strategic part of Ron's brain was already reviewing everything he knew about the Italian and his Defense skills. The brainless gorillas usually following the ferret around would actually have made much easier opponents.

"Potter, Weasley. We have not opened the room yet, in case you wished you require a special setting."

Harry just hummed as an answer and moved to walk past the tapestry the three required times, mumbling slightly under his breath. As the door appeared and Harry walked into the room, Ron had to rush to step in front of the Slytherins, so his oblivious friend wouldn't find himself alone in the room with them, even for one moment. It would have been the perfect occasion for the snakes to close the door and lock him outside, leaving Harry vulnerable.  
Inside was a regular duelling arena, with a few bookshelves behind a glistening shield. The room was done in greys, but Ron couldn't be sure if that was a specification of Harry or a choice of the magic behind the room. Anyway, it was probably better; no need to stir up house rivalries before they'd even started.

"Hum, ok. So, I just wanted to make that first session about seeing where you are standing. So we know what to work on later. It should be safe to duel here, at least that's what I asked the room for. And I guess we should do two duels, just so Ron and Zabini can practice too. Zabini, will you shield me, please? Ron will be your second Malfoy."

What? That was not what they had discussed! Ron was supposed to get Harry's back and let the Slytherins care for themselves. He sent the best glare he could muster toward his back stacking friend. There was no way in hell he was going to protect the slimy ferret!  
His glare was met with an equality strong one from Harry.

"I know that this might not appear to be the most logical solution, but I've really thought it through. I trust Ron not to let you come to harm, Malfoy, because he knows I wouldn't forgive myself for accidentally hurting you. And I trust Zabini here to do the right thing because else you'd both be in huge trouble. That is, if you can reach me... I also don't want this to degenerate into a full battle if one of the second believes that the opponent cheated or something, and that way I'm pretty sure it will not happen."

Great, now Harry's temper was playing up again. Hopefully, he would explode on one of the Slytherins and scare them away... Or maybe not, considering the green eyes were scowling at him in disapproval when he did not approve of the plan. He gave a weak shrug; he would support this crazy idea in any way that was not entirely necessary! Their opponents shared a smirk before nodding their assent.

"Good, then let us begin. Take your positions please."

Everything actually processed smoothly from that point, Harry and Malfoy being rather evenly matched -though Ron suspected that Harry wasn't putting his whole into the fight, until Ron, having been lulled into a bored detachment by the back and forth, let his attention wander to the new recipe of maple cheesecake his mother had experimented with during the summer. Of course, the two-faced ferret chose that moment to miss a spell coming at him and get hit.

**********

Thursday, 5 September 1996, 4:20 pm  
Room of Requirement, Hogwarts

Blaise had been watching the Weasley boy closely while maintaining his backup shield over Potter since the start of the duel but he was starting to let up a bit. His counterpart had obviously taken his Savior friend's advice to heart and was properly protecting Draco. That was until a spell breached Draco's defence for the first time and the red-hair menace's shield didn't hold.  
It was nothing, a harmless Leek Jinx if the leeks sprouting from his friend's ears were to be believed, but they all froze in reaction. Blaise was still hesitating between taunting the standoffish Slytherin Prince for his interesting looks and punching the lights out of the Weasley idiot when Potter took the choice out his hand.  
He stalked toward Draco and for one moment, Blaise thought he was going to punch him or something, even if that did not make any sense. But then, he passed Draco and stopped in front of his own housemate, leading into his personal space. His whole posture was threatening, his balled up fist clenched so hard that his knuckles were turning white, his slight frame shaking from anger, his voice barely audible from the other side of the room.

"Was that on purpose?"

So Potter was going to play Draco's champion? Well, maybe it wasn't just a rumour that he had some _saving-people thing_. And Blaise definitely wasn't going to complain about seeing Weasley being given a roasting. That guy was a disgrace to wizarding traditions. Not to mention that he had two left feet and one of them was definitely in his mouth. And he was once again demonstrating his abysmal verbal skills...

"What? What d'you mean?"

"Did you purposefully let your shield down the moment Malfoy let one of my spells through so he would get hit?"

Potter's voice was stronger now, and definitely trembling, as if he was trying to control himself not to blow up in his friend's face.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Harry, no, of course not. I swear, I didn't mean it, it was an accident! C'mon, it's nothing, he's all right, might even start up a new fashion!"

That last sentence was apparently the last thing to say, as Potter, who had been relaxing ever so slightly at hearing Weasley's reassurance that it had not been voluntary, tensed up again. His expression must have also changed, because Draco, who had until then been observing the exchange from a few feet on the side, took an instinctive step back.

"The fact that it did not happen to be a harmful hex doesn't make it all right, Ron."

Potter's voice was uneven.

"How thoughtless and irresponsible can you be??"

A spontaneous breeze swept through the room, chilling.

"We were duelling seriously here and even innocent jinx can be dangerous if misplaced!"

Gusts of winds now, carrying wisps of colour.

"You know that! You were supposed to protect him!"

His voice was becoming more and more powerful as if it was being amplified by magic.

"You were supposed to make sure I could not endanger him by accident!"

Weasley had backed against the wall, Potter following him at every step, not giving him any respite.

"Don't you think I have enough blood on my hands already?"

Blaise could actually smell the magic raising in the air. He would have never thought that magic had a smell, but it was definitely there.

"Do you really believe I want to add anyone, even fucking Malfoy, to the list of people who got injured because of me?

Something strange was happening to the wall behind Weasley. Like it was shimmering against the amount of power pouring out of Potter.

"God, Ron, I just saw Sirius die in front of my eyes because I was not careful enough! I see him, whenever I let my thoughts wander, I see him falling across again and again."

Blaise shared a look with Draco. His friend was on the other side of the room, as far as he could from the two Gryffindors. They only had a vague idea of what Potter was talking about, but it was obviously putting him under great pressure.

"And it's all my fault... "

His look then went to the weasel, stuck between an out-of-control Boy-Who-Lived and a melting wall. His schoolmate was deathly pale and his wide-open eyes were riveted to Potter's face.

"I killed him, Ron, I fucking killed him. Like I did my parents, like I did Cedric! And if I can't trust you to stop me from killing someone else, then who, you tell me, who?!!"

The winds had calmed down, but some strange dark goo was now oozing from the floor and creeping over the stone toward the facing Gryffindors. Potter, if possible, had stepped even closer to Weasel and was shouting breathlessly into his face.

"Or maybe you actually enjoy it, do you? You've always been so jealous of me, maybe you're secretly delighting in my loss. The mighty Savior crumbles, and his loyal friend saves the day, you'd like that wouldn't you?"

Potter's fist was convulsing around his wand like it was fighting a battle of its own, torn between hexing his enemy or protecting his friend. And then, it jerked up, and Weasley found himself with the tip of the wand pushed against his throat.  
Blaise threw another bewildered look at Draco. Until then, he had believed that Weasley would react at some point, that he was used to his housemate's insanity, and that they should just stay clear of the conflict and let them play it out. But now it was clear that he was just as overwhelmed by the situation as they were. Just as it was clear that Potter wasn't thinking straight and that nothing guaranteed he would not actually hurt the other boy.  
Slowly, as to not draw attention on him, Blaise raised his wand and pointed it at Potter's back. There was going to be hell to pay for it, but then, he really couldn't let one of his classmates kill another. If only because the blame would fall on Slytherin, as usual.

"Stupefy!"

The blue light hit Potter square in the back and he collapsed against his housemate, who caught him just before he slipped to the floor. All the magic that had been flowing freely around the room settled down, and with it the black sludge faded into nothingness and the walls setlled back into their normal aspect. The red-head looked at Blaise, his mouth opening and closing, forming the word _Thanks_ but no sound actually coming out of it.  
However, Blaise wasn't going to wait for him to get a grip on himself and accuse them of being somehow responsible for the craziness that had just happened. He quickly crossed the room, giving a wide berth to the now unconscious Gryffondor menace, grabbed Draco's arm and made for the door.

Mingling with Gryffindors was definitely much too dangerous an experience...

**********

Thursday, 5 September 1996, 4:20 pm  
Room of Requirement, Hogwarts  
  
Ron was starring dumbly at the limp body in his arms. His best friend... His best friend had been pretty close to... No, he didn't want to even think about it. There was no way Harry would have cursed him, no matter how out of control he was. Still, he was pretty glad that the Slytherins had stepped in. Damn, he'd never have thought he would end up owning one of those...  
He needed to react, do something, Harry probably needed help! But he still couldn't wrap his mind around what had just happened.  
Hermione, he needed Hermione, she would know what to do! And even if she didn't, he still feel better to have her at his side. Harry had freaked him out so much, he really didn't want to be around him alone when he woke up. Maybe even not around at all...  
Closing his eyes to focus, he cast a Patronus and sent it to Hermione so she would know to come.


	10. The dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still looking for a beta, so please be tolerant of the remaining mistakes, and don't hesitate to correct them in the comments, I'll be grateful :)

# The dreams

Saturday, 7 September 1996, 6 pm  
Hospital Wing, Hogwarts

"You, are completely and irremediably irresponsible! What in God's name were you thinking, Harry?"

Harry was watching Hermione pace back and forth in front of his bed, her arms moving wildly, showing how upset she was. Ron and Madam Pomfrey had wisely retreated to stand a bit further, as the furious Gryffindor Perfect proceeded to explain once again to Harry how much of an airhead he was.  
This had been going on for at least half an hour, ever since the Hogwarts matron had finished her diagnosis and discovered that Harry had been taking the dreamless draught without interruption for several weeks. Apparently, suppressing one's dreams for long periods had adverse effects. Extreme mood swings and unstable magic, to name just two.

"consequences!... Not to mention the risk of dependence! Becoming addicted to a sleeping potion is obviously going to help. You. So. Much!"

Right, that too. Did being too scared of nightmares to stop taking the potion count as addiction already or was he still in the clear on that one? Guess he would have to find out tonight, as Pomfrey had already sent Dobby to fetch his potion vial, stating that if she couldn't trust him to regulate his use he would have to do without. Hermione had of course wholly approved...

Harry's gaze wandered as he waited for Hermione to get it all off her chest. Considering the strength of the Calming Draught they had dosed him with before waking him up, he couldn't muster much emotion in response to her berating.  
His eyes fell on Ron. How strange that he had not tried to calm their friend down... He was looking at his feet, standing one step behind Pomfrey, a rather demure posture for one so prompt to outbursts. Harry had a nagging feeling that something was wrong, besides the obvious that is, but he couldn't figure it out.

"Harry? Harry! Harry Potter, are you listening to me?"

He spun his head back toward Hermione. She was standing right next to him, her hands on her hips, her glare drilling a hole into him.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I can see that you are upset, and I realise what I did was pretty stupid, but I'm feeling a bit...foggy right now. Could we just put off this discussion until I'm not under influence anymore? I swear I won't do anything like that again."

"Oh, I'm pretty confident you won't, I'll make sure of it!"

With that, she whirled around and strode toward the exit. Ron only gave a half-hearted shrug before following her out. It seemed that Madam Pomfrey took this as her cue to launch into her own lecture. She tutted as she renewed her diagnostic spells.

"You were really lucky, Mister Potter. It seems that your misuse of the draught has not caused any lasting adverse effect. As Miss Granger accurately describes to you, the combined consequences of dream deprivation and habituation to such a potent potion could have been disastrous. As it is, you should be very grateful that Mister Weasley had the insight to stun you before you lost total control of your magic. Though they really should have forced you to come to me earlier when they noticed that your temper was unstable... It is usually the first sign..."

Harry switched off from her chiding as a thought came to him. They _had_ come to her earlier. Not a week before, actually. For the exact reason that his temper was acting up. And she had deemed him perfectly healthy... Had she forgotten about it, or was she rewriting the story to brush over her overview? Well, maybe she truly had no way to guess what was wrong at the time... After all, teenagers were known to be rather moody and volatile, and Harry was far from an expert in Healing. Still, he resolved to raise the issue with Hermione when he would be released from the Hospital Wing.

**********

Sunday, 8 September 1996, 1 pm  
Sixth Year Dormitories, Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts

It had been a struggle to get Ron alone. Since Harry had left the Hospital Wing in the morning after a restless night under the attentive watch of the Hogwarts matron, he had been trying to thank his friend, but there always seemed to be someone around. As the story they had fed the other Gryffindors was that Harry had fainted out of exhaustion, he couldn't exactly say _thank you for the stunner_ in front of them. He would have enlisted Hermione's help, but she was very ostensibly not speaking to him... So he had been left trying to find excuses to drag Ron away from the Common Room.

Here they were now. Ron was fidgeting awkwardly next to the door and Harry got this feeling again that something was wrong. It was as if his friend was uncomfortable being alone with him.

"So, I just wanted to say thanks for stunning me before I hurt anyone..."

"Really?"

Ron's voice was incredulous, but his face reflected fury rather than surprise.

"What? I don't really remember what happened, but you did stop me before I did any damage to anyone, didn't you? I mean, I didn't hurt Malfoy or Zabini, did I?"

Harry felt his breath shorten, that couldn't be happening! Surely his friends would have told him if he had injured someone. Even if they couldn't say so in front of Pomfrey, they would have found a way...  
He was taken completely aback by Ron's reaction.

"No, you didn't, you didn't hurt the precious ferret or his slimy friend since that's apparently all you're worried about. And for your information, I didn't stun you. Zabini did, because you were threatening me. You looked so out of control that he probably thought you were going to slip and kill me. But you wouldn't have cared, would you? Another casualty added to your list, but I was asking for it, not protecting your new Slytherin friend, wasn't I?  
You fucking scared me, but I wouldn't fire a spell at you because I was afraid it would get messed up by your magic. I couldn't protect myself because I didn't want to hurt you, how does that sound? I lied to Pomfrey because I knew you would be mad at me if I let Zabini get in trouble for stunning you. And here you are, worried that you might have hurt the poor little Slytherins... You know what? Fine by me! Go play nice with the snakes, but don't expect me to have your back ever again. If I'm going to die fighting this war, it won't be because I was around when your magic is acting up again!"

With this, Ron stormed out of the room. Harry was left staring in disbelief at the closed door. What the hell had happened out there? He knew Ron had been resentful about being made to shield Malfoy, and about the whole tutoring exchange thing. But that was nowhere enough to make him blow up like that... Whatever Harry had done in the Room of Requirement seemed to have scared the shit out of his dorm mate. He needed to go find Hermione, Ron had probably told her what had transpired there. Except she wasn't talking to him, because of that stupid potion stuff!

So much drama, Harry felt like his life wouldn't ever slow down. Really, couldn't he even go through the first month of school without his life being in danger one way or another? And without putting his friends and classmates in danger too? Fuck it all... Harry collapsed on his bed, kicked his shoes off and burrowed under the covers. Here at least not much could happen to him. He expected neither Hermione nor Ron to come look for him, considering, so he'd probably be able to spend the rest of the day hiding there. Hiding from the crowd and the looks and the expectations and the judgement and the admiration and the hope in people's eyes.

**********  
  
Sunday, 8 September 1996, 11 pm  
Lord Voldemort's study, Malfoy Manor  
  
The Dark Lord was sitting at his desk in the suit he had claimed ownership of at the Malfoys' when it happened.  
He was reviewing routine reports from his Auror followers, making notes about actions that would need to be taken once he had control over the Ministry, when suddenly his body was sucked up into an energy tunnel, squeezed and stretched in a feeling not too far from Apparition, and spat out as abruptly as it had been drawn in. Instinctively, he rolled over and jumped to his foot, his wand ready, looking for his enemy. Somewhere in his brain, he made a note to make sure that whoever had had the stupidity to make their report a Portkey would suffer a drawn-out and agonising death. Another small part of his mind just applauded himself for the perfectly executed manoeuvre, a sure proof that his working-out was bearing fruits. Most of his attention, however, was on location the enemies that were most probably waiting for him.  
That was when he realised where exactly he was standing. The Entrance Chamber of the Department of Mysteries. He had expended enough effort to implant this image in Potter's brain the previous year that it felt almost familiar. The realisation came with a gut-clenching feeling of dread. It was like he knew with certainty that something awful was going to happen.  
Before he even had time to process this foreign feeling, the door in front of him opened and he was propelled into a corridor. He did not have control over his motions, the walls just flying past him as he fought not to be overwhelmed by the panic he felt growing in up. He could feel his muscles moving and his legs carrying him into the Hall of Prophecy, and yet at the same time, the sensations were alien to him. He struggled to turn around, to regain control over his body, whatever was waiting for him there was something he did not want to even come close to! He had to leave!  
Without warning, the tall figure of Lucius appeared before him.

"It's time you learned the difference between life and dreams, Potter."

Dark-robbed figures were surrounding him and his friends. Most of their faces were covered by white, ghastly masks. Bellatrix Lestrange was there, he needed to protect Neville from her! Wait, Neville? He didn't know anyone of that name. And he certainly did not fear either Lucius or Bellatrix, at least he knew he did not fear them, despite the overpowering feeling of terror cloaking his thoughts.  
Tearing himself from the emotions running wild in his mind, he realised that he was trapped in a memory of the Ministry fiasco from the beginning of the summer. Some measure of relief spread through him underneath the turmoil linked with the memory he was witnessing: no danger awaited him here, and he merely had to figure out why he had been drawn into this vision so he could extract himself from it.

He was sprinting along the shelves of prophecies, trying to outrun the collapsing construction and evade the shards of glass flowing everywhere from the shattered globes. All that knowledge lost... But they had needed to escape, escape the Death Eaters! Where were Ron, Ginny and Luna? Another wave of terror rolled over the Dark Lord when the Muggle-Born know-it-all was taken down by Antonin Dolohov. It was obvious the memory was from one of the stupid children and he was pretty sure it was Potter. Was the boy powerful enough to trap him into a memory? Really, how ridiculous was it to get attacked by brains...? He did not feel any sign of possession or Legimency. It was actually as if he had been sucked out of his body and into the memory rather than the memory being forced into his mind. His reflections were brutally interrupted by him/Potter/the memory collapsing on the floor, his body convulsing from the pain of the Cruciatus. A pain that strangely did not reach Voldemort's mental incarnation. It was becoming very challenging to keep his conscious separated from the boy's as dread surged up again. He was a powerless witness of his own torture, knowing that after it would come a torture even worse. What had happened afterwards again? Probably something that explained that irrational drive to taunt Bellatrix, to get her to cast Cruciatus at him again, so she wouldn't...

"Nooooooo!"

It was not possible, not again, not one more time. No! Sirius would come out from the other side of the arch, it had all been a nightmare, not possible, not possible, strong arms encircling him and pressing him against a warm chest, he turned around but it was not Sirius, not Sirius, would never be Sirius again.

"Harry."

He twisted to face the damned archway again, hope swelling in his chest, his breath caught in his throat. A mist was escaping from the veil and condensing into a human shape. Was it...? No, it wasn't Sirius, but another very familiar silhouette. The smoke was already thickening next to his dead father's ghostly appearance and another body soon emerged next to the first one.

"Mom. Mom! Dad!"

The steel-like grip around him shuddered yet still stopped him from running toward the dreamlike spirits. He wanted to shout at Remus to let him go but the soft voice of his mother made him freeze.

"How do you dare call us mother and father! You do not deserve to be our son. Was it not enough that we gave our life for you? Did you also have to take our friend's too? Will you also push Remus off a cliff, to finish your work?"

Her words felt like he had just been drenched in cold ice. Yet no sound left his lips, as the memory as stripped him of the control over his own body. The arms circling him were not so much keeping him away from the treacherous archway anymore, rather holding him in place as his parents' spirits were joined by others.

"Death follows you everything you go, Harry. It is not safe to love you. It is not even safe to be close to you. If only you could just do what you are told... Take the Cup when I asked you to, study Occlumency, listen to your teachers..."

This was Cedric speaking, as Lilly and James Potter put their misty hands on his shoulders. They had the same look in their eyes as they had had for Harry in the Mirror of Erised in First Year. Except now it wasn't for him, he didn't deserve such loving anymore.  
Flanking them were two other shadows that he recognised from his duel with Voldemort in the graveyard. They were both looking down at him in disgust.

Disgust on the face of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, whenever he proved himself a freak yet another time. Disgust from Snape, from that very first lesson, when he had not done anything yet, apart from being the son of his father. Disgust from Umbridge when he stood his ground against her propaganda, from Draco when he commented on his choice of friends in the train, from his primary school teachers who believed he purposefully wore dirty and run--down clothes, from Vernon again, Vernon, Vernon, Vernon...

The image of his uncle echoed and swirled in his mind, or rather the images, as multiple memories from his younger and more recent years blurred together to form a vile and terrifying impression of the man. Those were not his! They were not the orphanage, he had never seen that repulsive Muggle.

With a jolt, the Dark Lord managed to wretch himself from his host's conscious and regain some sense of self. It was frightening how easily he had gotten absorbed by the distorted memory, how much effort he needed to exert to keep his self separated from the distorted memory... He was not even sure it was a memory anymore. It looked like Potter's personal hell, a continuous stream of nightmarish visions blended together. Nightmare... Maybe that was what it was? Was he somehow stuck in the young man's dreams?

A new scene was unfolding in front of him. The overweight Muggle was unbuckling his belt with fat, greasy fingers. The man's lips were moving, he was obviously saying something, but all that could be heard were the beat of the blood pounding against Potter's hears and his itched breath. The recollection slowed, drawing out the movement of the leather across the air. In a childish reflex, Lord Voldemort attempted to close his eyes, but he still did not have any control of his/Potter's body. Then it hit, the shock of the strike, the familiar burn, the thud of the leather against the clothed chest.  
As the punishing hand was drawing back, preparing for another swing, its image blurred and recollections of similar events superimposed over it.

**********  
  
Monday, 9 September 1996, 6 am  
Lord Voldemort's study, Malfoy Manor

Voldemort came to as the sky was starting to lit up. He was slumped over his desk, as he had been the four previous times he had woken up from the nightmarish visions Potter sent to him. He really hoped that he would not get trapped again in the feverish dreams. He expected not to, as the young man probably needed to get up and prepare for class soon. He had been repeatedly torn from his body, immersed into Potter's sick visions and released whenever the boy woke up, only to be dragged back into new nightmares after a short respite.  
The whole experience had been draining, mentally and emotionally, as he had had to simultaneously fight not to be absorbed and carried away by the flow of Potter's feelings and thoughts, as well as deal with whatever emotion he had not managed to keep at bay. Some of those emotions were foreign to him. The guilt. The remorse. The grief of mourning a loved one. Others he was well acquainted with but had hoped never to come across again. So much terror in such a short life. The eerily familiar feeling of helplessness and hopelessness when the very adults that were supposed to care and protect where the ones hurting you. The anger against himself for not being enough, not being strong enough, old enough, knowledgeable enough.

The Dark Lord brought a tired hand to his face. He needed to stop this phenomenon from reproducing. He was almost certain that Potter had had no more control over it that he, in fact, the annoying child had not even seemed aware of the intrusion. What's more, he did not believe the young man to be shrewd enough to think of such a plan to incapacitate his enemy, not schooled enough to pull it off. Dumbledore was out of the picture too, as Snape as assured him that he had not accessed Potter since the trials. So this was probably some aberration of the link between him and Potter.  
He looked down to the old tomes laid out in front of him. After the first series of nightmares, he had rushed to the extensive Malfoy library and gathered every writing he thought might hold the key to this mystery. He had not had much time to study them yet, though, as the reprieves had been far shorter after the second streak of dreams. Potter's exhaustion had probably won over his fear of the visions after that and Voldemort had been granted very little lull time to gather his mind.  
Now, however, he hoped he would quickly find an answer in the selected books. They dealt with Mind Magic and the effect of soul bonds, the closest thing the drawn-out man could think of from his situation. Of course, scrolls on the consequences of a live Horcrux would have been more fitting, but in all his research on the topic, he had never encountered the mention of one, let alone a study of its consequences... As he skimmed through the first manuscript, he contemplated the possibility of the phenomenon having nothing to do with the Horcrux. After all, he had violated Potter's mind on several occasions, not the least when he had possessed him in the Ministry Atrium at the beginning of summer. Maybe he had created some sort of mind bond at the time? But then, why would it react this way now? This was a crucial question whether or not the Horcrux was involved...  
All things considered, the Horcrux was probably part of the equation. If it had only been a matter of possession and Legimency... Well, it was not like he had been the first person to do it, so similar experiences should have been reported extensively in the darker Mind Magic books, if only as a warning.

A few hours later, he slammed the book he had been reading shut and groaned in frustration. Nothing, not even a hint of what strange anomaly had governed the events of the night. While Lord Voldemort was a man of little sleep, the complete lack of rest was still getting to him and he could feel his temper running thin. Reports from his Death Eaters activity were piling up, waiting for his review, and he had plans to spend the afternoon consulting with each of his new group leaders to assess their progress. If he conducted the meeting in this state of mind, more than one of them would need a treatment for nerve damage come evening. It wouldn't do; he was adamant not to fall back into his volatile habits. He would not be seen as a brilliant but mercurial leader. As loathe as he was to resort to such a behaviour, he would need to get a nap before meeting with them.  
But before, he would summon Snape and ask for his strongest Dreamless Sleep potion. He would not put up with another sleepless, tormented night. Until he found a reasonable explanation and remedy, he would indulge in a drugged sleep. If whatever force had decided to drag him into Potter's mindset last evening reiterated its nonsense, he would be prepared!  
With this thought in mind, he closed the curtains and dimmed the candle lights with a flick of the hand and laid down on his bed. Just as he fell into a well-deserved sleep, he realised that he was still wearing the same robes from his previous day, having never taken the time to change his clothes...

**********

Thursday, 12 September 1996, 11 am  
Family Dining Room, Malfoy Manor

Four nights. It had already been four nights since the first shared nightmare with Potter. Four restless nights, mostly spent out of his body in whatever sick horror his nemesis's mind saw fit to conjure. Actually, the experience could not even be called restless: they were simply and utterly debilitating! He had tried everything he could think of, from dosing himself with wizarding and Muggle sleeping drugs to asking Severus to stun him. No matter his state of consciousness, he would find himself transported to Potter's dream-space come the night. Four nights, and he was nowhere closer to the solution. He had ransacked the entire Malfoy library and ordered his followers to bring him any promising book they could provide on the matter. Of course, he had not been able to explain precisely what his problem was... He had had to manipulate the truth enough for them not to discern how vulnerable he was at the moment. Only Severus knew the truth, the man had been loyal enough to come to him about the Horcrux despite the risks, and he did need someone to look over him while he was trapped in Potter's mind. This made the situation even more delicate, as the Potion Master had to provide an excuse to Dumbledore for being summoned several nights in a row and spending the entire night out of the castle.  
And then, there were the nightmares themselves. The Dark Lord was steadily getting better at separating his feelings from the dreams, but he still got overwhelmed sometimes and would then lose his sense of self, not even remembering that he was not actually living the scene. What's more, even when he kept himself distinct from Potter's torrent of emotions, some of it would seep through and mix with his own beliefs.

He had been rather smug, at first, to witness the terror his reincarnations had inspired in the young Hogwart pupil during his First and Second Year. He had been truly intimidating. His self-esteem had been stroked again during the numerous replays of his rebirth in the cemetery. This specific memory held a spot of choice in Potter's nightly terrors, along with the mosaic of memories from beating from his disgusting Muggle uncle. Actually, Voldemort could remember a very annoying occurrence the night before where Vernon Dursley had emerged of the cauldron after the ritual instead of him, and Potter's panic had soared to unprecedented levels. The Dark Lord had been quite disgruntled that his prophesied bane would find his walrus uncle a more terrifying dark lord than the man who had killed his parents and terrorised Great Britain.  
At the same time, Lord Voldemort was starting to get unsettling, mixed feelings about some events of the war. The first wisp of pollution from Potter's erratic emotions came when he caught himself regretting Bellatrix killing Sirius Black. Of course, he had already punished her for this rather stupid move, one does not end an ancient pureblood line and get away with it. But before, his concern had been purely rational, in the context of the betterment of the Wizarding population. Now, well, he somewhat felt _bad_ about it. Sirius Black was dead because he had let loose a definitively mad woman on a bunch of school kids, and now Potter hurt. A lot. More than Voldemort remembered was possible.  
Another concerning development was the slight disgust he had experienced earlier today while witnessing the torture of a Ministry worker who held some critical information. Not disgust at the pathetic whimpering of the inconsequential Ministry minion, which would have been unsurprising, if not excepted, but disgust at the satisfaction showing on the persecutor's face. Even remembering it now, it somewhat upset his stomach.

Back to the main point, finding an escape from this situation was a foremost imperative. Leading a political and warfare campaign was already quite time-consuming by itself, it was becoming a _tour de force_ when he had to arrange his life around his enemy's night terrors. Right now, he was taking a late breakfast in the Malfoys' Family Dining Room while Thorfinn Rowle presented the result of his assessment of the Duelling abilities of his fellow Death Eaters. The man was a brute, but he held his own on the battlefield and the Dark Lord could not spare one of his more subtle followers for the task. According to Thorfinn, most of his brothers-in-arms -or sister-in-arms in Bellatrix's case- had gone complacent in the years since the First War and only made up for their lack of real skill by being far too trigger-happy. Considering how reckless the blond wizard was himself, this was quite a say...  
He had hoped to avoid this, but it seemed like he would have to introduce routine spell training in his minions' duties. Some were due to be injured, maybe even killed, as he had not had time yet to reliably sort the wheat from the chaff and ship any unstable follower back to the Ministry or Saint Mungo.


	11. The naming

Saturday, 14 September 1996, 10pm   
Hospital Wing, Hogwarts 

"I'm sorry, Mister Potter, but there is nothing I can do for you. If you had not abused my trust by overdosing yourself with sleeping potion, I could have given you some, but now you need to be weaned before you can safely take it again. You will have to cope with the lack of sleep until your body has found its balance again." 

"Right, I should have guessed so. Sorry for bothering you." 

Harry slipped from the hospital bed he had been sitting on and joined Hermione on the other side of the privacy screen where she had been waiting for him. He quietly shook his head to signify that no, there was nothing medically wrong with him, and no, the matron would not give him anything to help him sleep. 

No matter how mad Hermione was at him over the whole Sleeping Draught matter, she had not been able to overlook how bad Harry looked after the first few nights. Harry didn't want her to know about his nightmares, though, because she would for sure demand that he talk them through. So whenever she pestered him about his apparent exhaustion he would just lie and say that he couldn't remember whatever he had been dreaming about whenever he woke up screaming and sweating. He knew she had tried to talk to Ron about it, but his red-haired friend was still sulking. Not that he would have been able to do anything about it.   
They were walking down the corridor from the Hospital Wing and he could practically hear Hermione thinking. She was still convinced that Malfoy was set to kill him or kidnap him for Voldemort or something else of the sort. Harry had been able to go to their Potion tutoring session without any fuss at the beginning of the week because neither Hermione nor Ron had been talking to him, but now Hermione was very aware that he was going to meet with Draco for Defense practice. The fact that he was barely able to keep his eyes open and kept bumping into door frames and furniture did not help ease her worry... But she did not dare say anything, not after Harry had brushed over the hurtful words Ron had last said to him. Now, whenever they would broach the subject of the tutoring sessions, she would just sight and say that he was free to befriend whoever he wanted and that she trusted his judgement. Obviously, it was far from the truth, but that she would make the effort was a small flame in the cloudy landscape of his current life. 

They separated in front of the stairs. Harry was going up while Hermione was heading downstairs to the Library.   
He arrived a few minutes late, having not paid attention to the erratic movements of the stairs, which had landed him in the wrong wing twice before he finally managed to rally the corridor with the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. Of course, Malfoy was already waiting for him, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Thankfully, he did not comment and simply followed Harry inside the room after he had requested what he wanted from it.   
This time, the room looked very much like it had during the DA meeting, only quite a lot smaller considering it was just the two of them. He walked up to the dummies lined up the wall and turned around to face Malfoy. His memories for the duel last week are more than fuzzy, but he did not want the Slytherin to be aware of it. They had acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened when they had been alone for the first time after the incident, and Harry intended for it to stay that way. So he had had to devise a study plan that would make it look like he had actually evaluated Malfoy's skills. 

"So, you're pretty good, but not all of your spells are cast to the same standard. I think it will be best if we work our way up the curriculum starting from First year, so you are sure to have mastered anything Moody can ask of you. It'll be a good review for me anyway, some of those we don't use so much. It won't take so long. Most spells you have already mastered and we'll go over those real quick. Is that ok with you?" 

Instead of answering, he began casting all the First Year spells at one of the dummies in quick succession. Almost all of them were perfect, although he had a tendency to overreach when moving his wand arm from back to front. This was inconsequent for jinxes and charms such as those but could make all the difference for more advanced, delicate spell-casting. That was what Harry set to explain when Malfoy turned to him with a raised eyebrow as if challenging him to criticise his performance. 

 

Two hours later they were down to the end of the Third Year, Harry was dead on his feet and his wand arm was starting to cramp. He had spent the session correcting minute details in his schoolmate's casting, drawing from the research he had had to do the previous year to help students in the D.A., and he was quite satisfied with their progress. Malfoy was a quick learner, but some of his habits were deeply ingrained and he was having trouble getting rid of them.   
As the blond Slytherin left the room to do whatever he did during his free time, Harry leaned with all his weight against the wall. He desperately needed some sleep, but he was afraid to lay down and have a nap because of the nightmares. They were even worse than they had been before he had been rescued from the Dursleys -except maybe for that short period when he had been more or less delirious. They never stopped, rolling from one sickening scene to the other. How could he go to sleep willingly when he knew that in the dark Sirius and his parents awaited him to tell him how disappointed and disgusted they were, how he was responsible for the death of so many. Sometimes others joined, Cedric most of the time, or Ron and Hermione and then when he finally woke up he had to struggle to convince himself that no, they were not dead, Ron was breathing peacefully in the next bed...   
There was this dark presence, also, that he did not remember from before. It might have been because he had gone for so long without dreaming, maybe he had just forgotten about it, but still... It felt new. Or rather than new, out of place. Like something he had encountered before but that should have had no place in his dreams. It was somewhat echoing his feelings, amplifying some of them. And sometimes, it brought new ones, frightening ones, a tendril of enjoyment at seeing Bellatrix Lestrange throw the Cruciatus, a spike of smugness at the charming figure of young Tom Riddle... It was upsetting.   
He did not want to believe that those emotions were his. He was *not* becoming Dark. No matter what some of his housemates had taken to whispering behind his back since he had blown up in the common room after his first tutoring session with Malfoy. This was getting old. Be it not for the sheer revulsion he felt at the mere idea, with how often the school or the general Wizarding world had turned on him during the previous years, he might as well have gotten Dark, actually. At least, they would be shunning him for a reason.   
Still, maybe he should talk to Hermione about the strange occurrences. He would have to tell them about the contents of his nightmares and she would probably grill him for all his worth, but she might have an explanation. Like, a rare and poorly understood side-effect of weaning from the sleeping potions, or something. He hoped so because he really didn't want to think about what else it could mean... 

During his musing, Harry had slipped down the wall and was now sitting on the floor, slumping against a mountain of cushions the Room of Requirement had timely provided him with. He could feel his lids weighing down and knew that he would lose his fight against sleep if he did not stand up quickly. The problem was, he really needed the rest. With some luck, maybe the nightmares wouldn't be as strong during the day? 

\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\* 

Saturday, 14 September 1996, 1pm   
Lord Voldemort's study, Malfoy Manor 

The Dark Lord had been in the middle of a complex spell when the now familiar vortex sucked his mind into Potter's dream. Really, it was the middle of the day!   
He was getting better at keeping himself separated from Potter now and therefore was able to get quite upset over the situation he had left his body in. The delicate casting he had been weaving would probably explode, had probably exploded already actually, and there was no way to know what effects it would have. With some luck, he would have fallen away from the unstable magic. Even then there was a disturbing probability that he might not have a body to come back to: he had been experimenting on a flash flesh-rotting spell that was supposed to mimic the decay of a corpse in a few minutes... while the victim was still alive.   
He tried to focus on the Arithmancy behind the spell, to figure out the properties of the incomplete curse, but Potter's dream was becoming too intense. 

Once again, they were in the cupboard that apparently served as Potter's room, the brat himself being somewhere around seven, it was always difficult to tell because his growth had obviously been stunted by malnutrition. The child was mumbling to himself about blue hair and how it wasn't fair that he was the one punished when Piers had been the one imagining about the teacher in a blue wig. Despite the apparent quiet of the scene, anxiety radiated in waves from Potter's younger form, making it difficult to ignore. Now quite aware of his enemy's dreaming pattern, Voldemort knew it probably wouldn't be long before the nightmare morphed to a more aggressive form. In the meantime, there was not much he could do, so he assembled the mental representation he now adopted while in Potter's mindset and sat down on the cot in front of the child. For one minute, the dark-haired boy rose his head and peered into the darkness of his cupboard, straight through the Dark Lord's spirit-body and the later wondered if the young wizard could actually see him. But then the moment passed and Potter returned to his mumbling, adding the words *freak* and *unnatural* to the mix. 

Then, the door opened and the booming voice of the Muggle whale resounded in the small space.   
Voldemort was however spared the violence that would have undoubtedly followed as he was brutally torn away from his host's mind and thrown back out into his -thankfully alive and complete- body. As he regained control over his physical incarnation, he quickly pushed his chair away from his desk and back away as far as he could from the repugnant outcome of his aborted spell: his work table was covered in insects, larvae and flies, feasting on the remains of their dead predecessors. A squirming sensation on his scalp made him quick a thorough Scourify in haste, to get rid of any worms that might have taken residence on his person. Apparently, the curse had not been able to take hold of his body and had therefore aimlessly produced the fauna necessary to eat the flesh of corpses. An interesting result. Banishing the mess, the Dark Lord went to take notes on his failed experiment before penning a message to Severus about the change in sleeping patterns of his bothersome pupil. 

\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\* 

Saturday, 14 September 1996, 1:15pm   
Room of Requirement, Hogwarts 

Harry was ruthlessly awoken by frantic screaming. The brightness surprised him and burned his eyes, just a moment before he had been in the darkness of his cupboard and he could figure out how he had gotten out. Plus, he was slumped on something very comfy, far comfier than his cot had ever been. He rose his hands to his ears. Whoever was shrieking had nothing to envy Aunt Petunia for. He started as his brain caught up with the fact that this was definitively not his aunt and that he had fallen asleep in the relative safety of the Room of Requirement. As the confusion left his mind, his attention zoned in on the wails that had woken him up. 

"Oh, Merlin! He's dead, it's not possible, he's dead, Harry Potter's dead! What should I do, I can't go out and tell people that the Saviour is dead, we are going to die, dear me, God..." 

Nonplussed, Harry shook his head lightly. Was Hannah Abbot really pacing the room in hysterics over his death? Why in Merlin's name did she think he was dead? Straightening slightly on the pouffe the room had apparently conjured for him while he was sleeping, he tried to catch her attention with a cough.   
She froze in place, her left hand stuck in her hair, pulling at it, and slowly turned around, her eyes wide. 

"Harry? Harry, oh, thanks Merlin, you're alive! I'm sorry, I thought, I thought... I saw you there, against the wall, and you looked so still and white, and everyone knows that you were spending time with Malfoy and you missed lunch, so I thought... You have no idea how relieved I am! Well, maybe you have, I guess, since you probably wouldn't have been all too happy if you'd been dead, but you know... Oh my God! I'm so sorry! 

As Hannah babbled on and on, letting the tension drain out of her, Harry started massaging his temples. He could feel a terrible headache brewing, stemming from exhaustion and probably from his brutal awakening. The continuous chatter coming from his schoolmate did not help either, but he could not really resent her for it: if she had truly believed that she had just stumbled over his corpse, it must have been an awful experience. Though, he did try to stop the flow by cutting through her monologue. 

"Hey, how come the room let you in? Not that I really mind, but I had asked for it to block anyone from entering apart from Malfoy and me. I didn't want anyone to get caught by a stray spell..." 

Of course, the last part was not exactly true. With them practising on dummies facing away from the door, the probability of someone getting hit at random as they got in was extremely low. The real reason was that he had been worried about interference, either from his friends, or maybe Malfoy's. Hermione and Ron had not been the only ones to make it clear to Harry that his spending time with the Slytherin was not welcome. 

"Oh, hum, I don't know, I did not notice anything special when I came in actually. I just called for it the usual way, asking for a quiet place to meet with Ern... Err, anyway, I called for it, but when I stepped in it was this setting like the D.A. and you were not moving and... Well, I guess I kind of freaked out?" 

Her speech was still slightly disorganised, but she seemed to have calmed down greatly and was smiling lightly at him in an apologetic manner. 

"It's ok, don't worry about it. I wasn't planning to fall asleep, but I guess I really needed a nap, right?" 

He answered her smile with a weak one of his own before finally standing up -and putting his hand to the wall to stabilise himself as a wave of dizziness wrecked his balance. 

"I should I should get going, I have a ton of essays waiting for me and Hermione will have my head if I don't make a good start today. Enjoy your afternoon!" 

"Of course, I don't want to hold you, have a nice afternoon too." 

With an awkward nod, he finally left the room. 

\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\* 

Friday, 19 September 1996, Late night   
Harry Potter's mindscape 

Once again, the Dark Lord's ended up in young Potter's joke of a bedroom, his spirit form squeezed in the ridiculous space, facing the crying child. Honestly, from Potter's dream, one would think that he had spent his entire childhood crying or being yelled at. Sometimes both. However, Voldemort had to recognize that he too, when he called his earlier years to his mind, could only recall painful moments. At least, until he had gained enough control on his powers to scare the bullies away. But before that, despite the fact that he knew, rationally, that not every moment of his life had been hell, his memory seemed to be convinced of the contrary. 

That he was willing to consider his recollections from his time at the orphanage was a sure testimony of how bored and frustrated he was. His nemesis's dreams always followed the same patterns and they did not even have the decency of providing him with useful information for the war. So he was stuck, night after night, watching the repetitive nonsense produced by the young man's subconscious. This time was lost and it would continue this way until he found a protection against the absurd phenomenon. 

As he watched the child, a wild idea crossed his mind. What if there was a reason for his presence in his enemy's dreams? What is the Horcrux was dragging him into Potter's mind every night because it could not find peace? Or maybe it was trying to reconnect with its main soul piece, but then, why had the phenomenon started only now... He frowned as the skinny being in front of him went on sobbing quietly, oblivious to the older wizard's presence. Even if he had gotten quite good at recognising which emotions where his own and which were spillovers from Potter, he still could feel the sorrowful anguish permeating the air, the way one could taste a pungent smell or feel the vibrations of a loud sound in their rib cage. 

Voldemort felt a connexion with the child, one that usually annoying him to no end, but it was still there. Maybe it was the work of Horcrux, maybe it was their similar wretched lives in the hands of Muggles, maybe it was the way they had both been played by Dumbledore. Maybe it was the prophecy. He snorted at this, the thrice-damned prophecy was probably rubbish anyway. 

"Who'z dere?" 

He sharply brought his head end to stare at the speaker. The 6-years-old Potter were peering doubtfully around his cupboard, sniffling all the while, looking for the source of the definitively human sound he had just heard. It was obvious he could not distinguish the Dark Lord's spirit form sitting but a few inches from him, but he had not been able to here him either before. This the older wizard was sure of because he had screamed at his host for a good five minutes a few days prior, during a distasteful fit of rage. To his defence, he had cut a meeting short at nightfall, to ensure he would be alone when Potter fell asleep, but the minx had rudely decided to stay up until two that evening... 

Anyway, if Potter could hear him now, he would have to be especially careful. Or maybe he could turn this to his advantage. After all, had he not been thinking just a few moments before that maybe the Horcrux was pulling him in so he could alleviate his host's torments? It was a very wild bet, a preposterous idea, at best, but he had already exhausted all his even remotely reasonable schemes. Sighting, he threw his caution to the wind. 

"You can hear me?" 

"Whey aw you? I cant see no one" 

Voldemort made a face at the terrible pronunciation. If he had been corporeal, he would have conjured a handkerchief, or a dozen of them, and forced the brat to blow his congested nose. But he was not, so he settled for ignorance of the problem. Now, what to tell the child? 

"You cannot see me because I am in your head." 

"In my head?" 

"Yes." 

"Ow..." 

For some obscure reason, the young boy seemed disappointed by this answer. He twisted his finger together before admitting: 

"I should hav' 'nown. Beecauz I'm a frank." 

"A Frank?" 

"No, a freeaink!" 

Freak. Of course, that was the term his relatives used to address him. Beasts, all three of them. They did not deserve to live, and not just because they were parasitic Muggles. So that was what he proceeded to tell the little fellow, though not in those exact words. 

"You are not. You are, in fact, a very blessed child. Your idiotic relatives can see that and they are jealous, hence they belittle you to make themselves feel better." 

"But I am! I do awl diz weerd stuff and dey hav' to punis' me for it afte'..." 

"They punish you before they know that you have a power that evades them. You will learn to ignore the envy and the fear you read in their eyes. You are not the monster, they are! Anyone who would abuse a child, ignore them, starve them, hit them, make them feel worthless, they are the monsters." 

Young Potter pondered this silently, wiping his nose on his grimy sleeve for time to time and tracing mindless figures on the cover of his cot. When he lifted his head again he had a contemplative look on his face. 

"Den, ar' you my blesseddness?" 

The Dark Lord had to refrain himself from sneering at that one... He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the Boy-Who-Lived's blessing, how more outrageous could one get, really? 

"No, child, your *blessing* is your magic. I am merely..." 

... the Dark wizard who murdered your parents and have made slaying you his life goal since you were one year old... 

"...a spirit called in to help you." 

The youngster was now staring at him -or rather slightly to the left of him but it could not be helped since he could not actually see him- with his eyes opened wide and his mouth gaping. 

"You said... You said de forbeedden woed!" 

"What forbidden word?" 

"It'z bad bad bad! It meanz you' a freenk too!" 

New tears were forming in young Potter's eyes and he was scrambling to the farther end of the closet. 

"Stop being ridiculous! Neither of us are freaks! Now what did I say that put you in such a state? Spirit..? Blessing..? Magic..?" 

The last proposition drew an obvious reaction from the child, as he brought his hands to his hears and started chanting: 

"Nonononono..." 

The Dark Lord reached for the youth and tried to grab his shoulder to shake him out of his panic, but his hand glided through Potter's flesh, a reminder that the situation was far from real. Disgruntled, he sat back down in his corner and started planning for the bribes he would have to hand out to pass the Blood Purity law he had in his drawers. 

 

After some time, his musings were interrupted by a small, shy voice: 

"Are you really here to help me?" 

Voldemort considered letting him simmer a bit, as a retribution for his nonsense, but he did not have time to come to a decision as the door to the cupboard flung open and a meaty hand seized Potter's worn shirt and yanked it, and the boy with it, out in the hallway. A burst of fear turned the Dark Lord stomach. He reacted on instinct, grasping at his host magic and flinging it at the danger.   
Uncle Vernon caught fire. He released him/them and burned, burned, burned. Fear turned to awe, someone had protected him, he was not alone anymore, and disgust, the smell of charred flesh, the screams that were ringing in his ears, not his screams for once but those of the enemy. 

Vernon turned into Professor Quirrell and the vision of his agonising form in the Mirror of Erised brought the Dark Lord back to himself. Once again, he had let the flow of Potter's emotions overwhelm him... 

This consorting with the enemy was obviously a bad idea. It would only make him soft and susceptible to Potter's feelings. Something he could not afford, not when he was already sacrificing so much time and energy to those nightly occurrences. Remaining solely a spectator, the Dark Lord resolved, was probably much safer. 

\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\* 

Tuesday, 23 September 1996, 11 pm   
Harry Potter's mindscape 

That night, the Dark Lord landed in the dream-cupboard again. It was the first time Potter had had a nightmare featuring his younger self since Voldemort had accidentally burned his uncle down to crisps. During this time, the older wizard had silently kept to himself, determined not to interfere another time. Potter had not shown any sign of recollection from the event, neither in their shared dreams nor in the real world -he had had Severus watching out for any change in behaviour. This had Voldemort hoping that the youngster was still blissfully oblivious to the fact that someone was traipsing around his nightmares. However, this wish was thwarted as soon as the confusion from the mind travel settled. 

"Hullo?" 

He started. Was the child now able to sense his presence, in addition to hearing him? Or was it that he had made some noise reminiscent of Apparition when materialising? As he took to long to answer, the child insisted. 

"Is that you, Mister Spirit?" 

Sensing his presence, definitively. Would staying silent until the brat believed that he had dreamt it all or that he was crazy too cruel? The Dark Lord sighed. At least, this time, the skinny boy had a somewhat proper elocution. 

"Yes, it is me, child." 

"Oh! How are you?" 

Voldemort's sceptical raise of eyebrow would have made Severus jealous. Not only did young Potter remember about him and feel his presence, but he was inquiring about his wellbeing? His disbelief and annoyance at the ridiculous behaviour of his interlocutor bled quite clearly through his answer: 

"Why are you asking?" 

"Because I want to know!" 

Young Potter sound confused, and slightly indignant. Apparently, the Dark Lord had offended him. Good, maybe that way the brat would stop asking idiotic questions and let him go back to his silent brooding... But the child was not finished. 

"You saved me, didn't you? The big fire that burned Uncle Vernon? He didn't come back after! So that means you're my friend, doesn't it? And friends care 'bout each other!" 

Friends, right... Voldemort could not completely contain his snort and had to disguise it as a coughing fit. 

"We are, ain't we? Friends, I mean..." 

The child's voice had shrunk on that last sentence and he was obviously tried very hard to hide how much the answer would matter to him. And the Dark Lord, as any self-respecting dark lord, knew that he should crush Young Potter's delusion. It was beneath his status to befriend a 6-year-old orphaned urchin and completely ludicrous to *buddy up* with his fated enemy. However, in there, Voldemort was not entirely and purely the Dark Lord. He was also the main part of the Horcrux implanted in Potter's soul, he was the Wizarding child that had grown up unwanted in a Muggle orphanage, hell, he was even part Potter with all those seeping emotions... And where the Dark Lord might have firmly denied any kind of attachment, the being he was in Potter's mind felt an irresistible attraction to this unassuming, love-starved child. So he agreed. 

"Of course, we are. I am here to help you, I have told you that." 

He was going to regret this immensely when he woke up, but right now the smile lighting Young Potter's face was enough to justify his decision. 

"Thanks! You are my first friend you know? Oh, and I don't even know your name! I'm already a really bad friend... What's your name? Mine's Harry." 

Maybe he should start calling him Harry in his mind instead of Young Potter, as he had set up to do. Because this younger version had a definite personality and feeling, very different from the versions from his later years. Harry it was. But even if Harry probably wouldn't know what Voldemort meant, or who he was, he could not risk telling the child to call him this way. His birth name was also out of question, so mundane, so... Muggle. 

"I think you should name me, Harry. None of my names is suitable here, nor do I like them. It would be a great honour for me if you would choose a new name for me, as my friend." 

He knew he had made the right choice with Harry seemed to glow with pride at the responsibility. The small wizard thought long and hard, obviously taking the task very seriously. He was mumbling names and arguments under his breath but the older man could only grasp a few of them and they were apparently all quickly rejected by the child. Finally, he spoke up, his voice ushered as if in wonder, as he announced his decision. 

"Once the kindergarten teacher told us about this angel that will be the last one to die ever. You are a bit like an angel and I want you to live forever and ever so I'm never alone anymore. So I think you should have his name. Azrael."


	12. The betrayal

Tuesday, 23 September 1996, 7 am  
Great Hall, Hogwarts  
  
"Really, Harry, I don't understand why you have to be stubborn like that! It's ok, you'll be back in shape in no time, no one cares that you haven't been able to train last year..."

Harry scowled at his plate and continued to push his food around in an attempt to ignore Ron's pleas. His friend had started talking to him again over the weekend, when Harry had skipped tries out and his housemates had therefore discovered that their genius Seeker would not be playing Quidditch this year. Since then, the two youngest Weasleys had been alternating between laying into him for letting the team down and trying to convince him to come back. They apparently had the full support of Gryffindor house, with the welcomed exception of Hermione and Neville. Even McGonagall had taken him apart after dinner to ask him if he was _really sure_ he was making the right choice.

Couldn't they all see that he was struggling enough with his life already? His sleep was restless and he had to force himself to ingest somewhat reasonable amounts of food under Hermione's hawk-like supervision. Classes were hell when he could not concentrate on anything more than a few minutes and his homework was appalling, even by his standards. The only subjects he was making a modicum of progress in were Defence and Potions, thanks to the sessions with Malfoy. Really, if his Head of House was to take him apart for anything, it should be because of his plummeting grades, not because of something as insignificant as Quidditch.

"Harry, are you even listening to me?"

Apparently, Ron had had enough of his schoolmate silent ignorance.

"I am, Ron, but I told you already. I can't afford to play when I can't keep up with classes already. Plus, with how clumsy I am at the moment, it'd just be begging for injuries."

He had already explained this at least a dozen times, with various amounts of details, but the red-head just didn't see to get it. As Ron opened his mouth to start on him again, Harry decided to excuse himself and flee from the Great Hall, leaving his meal untouched.

Hermione found him out of the greenhouse they would be studying in that day. He knew she was going to berate him for not eating -again, but he really couldn't stomach anything when his supposedly best mate seemed intent on making him feel like shit.  
He was wrong, however: instead of lecturing him, Hermione just handed him an apple and a cheese sandwich. He smiled gratefully at her. Not that he was hungry, right now he felt more like he wanted to bury himself in a warm, safe hole and wait his life out. But still, he appreciated the gesture.

After some time, the students started to trickle down from the castle. Harry was sitting in the shadows and was partially hidden by Hermione so no one took notice of him, while Ron was loudly arguing with Seamus and Dean that something was obviously wrong with Harry if he didn't want to play Quidditch anymore. Apparently, he had a theory that Malfoy and his goons had Confunded him, which was so ridiculous: if Malfoy was indeed out to get him and had managed to Confund him, he would have done much worse than messing up with his love of flying. Luckily, the door the greenhouse opened at that moment and Professor Sprout's cheerful voice called them in, sparing him from having to hear all about the Slytherin's presumed Grand Plan to Quidditch Cup...

Hermione and he brought the end of the class and settled at the back, where Neville had already paired off with Susan Bones. In the centre of the sturdy wooden table, a dark cloth covered what was most probably the subject of the day's lesson. Neville had probably guessed what it was because he was whispering excitedly to Susan while pointing at the dark lump. It didn't mean anything, though, because the shy Gryffindor was usually enthusiastic no matter what plant they were studying.  
No one tried to lift the cloth out of curiosity before Sprout's instructions. After five years of Herbology, they knew that an early peek at the plants was not worth a lost finger or smarting pustules.

"Students, today will be our first session with the Arctic Moonborn Lace. We will work on them until shortly before Christmas and I will ask you to remain in the groups you have formed today for this. Now, each group has a cage of them. They are a delicate plant and quite difficult to procure in such quantities so if you let them die I will have to fail you for this project. Can anyone tell me the characteristics of the Arctic Moonborn Lace?"

Of course, both Neville and Hermione rose their hands immediately, as well as Parvati and two Hufflepuffs, one of which the Professor signalled to.

"They usually grow only above the Arctic Circle, professor. They are called Moonborn because they do not survive the sunlight, so their life cycles are tied to the arctic night. They look a bit like super thin vines and tend to form complex patterns, hence their name Lace. They are also very useful in healing potions against hypothermia and chilblain if they are harvested at the new moon, but they freeze the skin on contact."

"Very good, Miss Abbott, ten points to Hufflepuff! Now, who knows the spell that we are going to use to be able to care for them during daytime?"

This time, only the two Gryffindors at his table reacted and it was Neville who answered:

"Calautica Lunae, madam, with a hand move specific to the phase we want the move to take. It will block the sunlight coming into the room and replace it with a magical moon."

"Excellent, Mister Longbottom! That will be ten points to Gryffindor. It's now time for you to start working! Today, I want you to sketch them and separate the plants that might have entangled together. I will cast the dimming spell, but you will be expected to practise on your own because from next week on I will have one of you cast it. I also want two feet on the proper care procedure for Arctic Moonborn Lace. Remember to put your protective gloves, please, I don't want to have to unfreeze any hand this morning!"

She waited as the class collectively scrambled to put on their dragon-hide gloves before performing a rather complicated hand movement and calling:

"Calautica Lunae!"

Night fell over the classroom, no light coming through the glass ceiling and walls anymore. Instead, a bright full moon shone down on them from a starless magical sky. As if in answer, the plants were now glowing strongly from under the clothes, giving out a soft, pure gleam. No one dared make the first move and break the silence, as they were enraptured by the ethereal light play.  
Finally, someone drew the fabric away from their cage and soon everyone else followed suit.

The plants were a mesh of shining filament, intertwined together and with the bars of the cage they were encased in. One could not properly distinguish the main stem, it was only a blur of concentrated light where all the threads came together. The strands were drifting slowly, in a quiet dance, drawing patterns without any meaning. Harry was captivated by their mindless movements. It seemed to him to this plant was the epitome of peace, of serenity. He wanted to touch it, to feel it, to be absorbed by it. To be it. He brought his gloved hand to one of the tendrils pointing out from the metallic container and caressed it, but the sensation was terribly unsatisfying. How could he share the vegetal's quietude through the thickness of the dragon hide? He made to remove the offending accessory, intent on creating a direct contact.  
He was halted by a firm grasp on his arm. On his left, distantly, he heard Hermione cry out his name.

Professor Sprout was bustling toward them, most probably alerted by Hermione's shout, and he tried to tear his arm for Neville's grasp.

"What is happening here, Mister Longbottom?"

"I think Harry was getting ensnared by our Lace, Professor. He was taking off his glove and was reaching for the plant."

Both the Herbology Professor and Harry looked down to hand right hand. Indeed, it was missing a glove, though Harry would have been well pressed to say when and why he removed it...

"Oh my! I am so sorry, I did not think to warn you. It is such a rare occurrence nowadays, you see. Some people have this reaction to Arctic Moonborn Lace, an allergy if you will. The plant has a dangerous allure to them and they feel irrepressibly attracted toward it. Some have even been reported to go as far as to try to eat it when their hands were already frozen stiff. Terrible thing, really, isn't it?"

"Uh."

Harry's answer was far from one of his most elaborate, but he was feeling quite out of it. Once again, he was the abnormality among his peers, and this time, his memory was foggy and he really had no inkling as to what to answer. Apparently, that did not upset his teacher in the least, as she jovially instructed him:

"I'm afraid you will have to sit most of this project out, my dear. You should not get close to the Lace or look at it, and you definitively should not be left alone in a room with some! If you just let me think about it, I will figure out an alternative assignment for you. Now, I think you'd better go rest in the Hospital Wing for the remainder of the period, you do look a bit peaky... Miss Granger, would you walk him there please?"

With a worried look on her face, Hermione nodded and helped him pack his bag. Professor Sprout had to instruct the class to cover the plants again as opening the door would break the night spell. On his way out he could hear Ron's table grumble about how nothing ever went right when he was around, and it drove another nail in his already bleeding heart.

**********

Tuesday, 23 September 1996, 3 pm  
Spare potions lab, Dungeons Four, Hogwarts  
  
"So, Potter, I heard you got sent to the Hospital Wing again this morning?"

"It's none of your business, Malfoy..."

Harry had been taunted mercilessly by housemates at lunch for his reaction to the plant, and he really didn't want to hear any more of it.

"Well, I was just asking because it is actually pretty..."

Before the blond could finish his sentence, Harry vengefully mangled his root with his knife. What part of _none of your business_ did the git not understand?

"Wait, wait, what are you doing to this poor root?!"

At least, it was easy to get the Slytherin of track: just destroy some Potion ingredient and he'd be all over you...  
Malfoy had rescued the _poor root_ from his brutal treatment and was now demonstrating again the way he should cut it. It always looked so easy when his schoolmate did it, graceful and precise. And then Harry tried to reproduce his move and ended up with unequal chunks inside of neat dices, or impure juice full of pieces of bean skin. Sure, this time he had been purposely careless, but most of the time he tried his best. Why couldn't Potions be like cooking? At least a roast wouldn't explode in your face if you put one herb too many on it.

Malfoy seemed to feel that his pupil was getting disheartened because instead of passing the root and the knife back to him he just finished slicing the root and signalled Harry to move to the next ingredient.  
They had worked on that one the previous week, powdered root of asphodel. Harry first needed to cut it into small parts -for once it didn't matter if they were of uneven sizes- and then crush those in a mortar until he got a fine powder. The last step was to sift it to get rid of any left-over chunks. While they were working on the First Year curriculum and asphodel root was already powdered for First Years, Malfoy had decided it was better if he learned how to prepare it from the start. The Gryffindor hadn't minded. The process, while long, was actually quite easy and there wasn't much that could go wrong with it. He had actually managed to produce a powder meeting Malfoy's demanding criteria on his first try the previous week.  
He grabbed the root from the tray of ingredients the Slytherin had brought with him and checked the texture the way he had learned a week before. One could see that it had been dried properly when it soaked the humidity from the fingers and left one's skin with a raspy quality, but it should not sport any fissures. He swiftly diced it, making the pieces rather small so the crushing process would be quicker. It still took him a good fifteen minutes to obtain the desired amount of powder. When he put away his result, he noticed that Malfoy was staring at him, a contemplative look on his usually emotionless face.

"Did I do anything wrong?"

The other looked straight into his eyes for a moment, before shaking his head.

"No, nothing. Let's move to the Feidelmid Beans then."

Harry's gaze shifted to said beans. They had caused him some of his worse Potions failures because every single ingredient extraction method involving them was painstakingly fastidious. Every part of the damned things could be used: the shell, the skin, the juice and the powdered flesh.  
The shell was a nasty affair that required to be handled with gloves, as it was covered with thorns similar to barbed wire -did wizards know of barbed wire? To remove it, one needed to cut through it, but around the bean, because if the soft grain was punctured the whole thing had to be thrown away. This would already have been difficult with bare hands, but with the gloves on, it was extremely annoying. This step was skipped for the first three years of Potions class, but of course, Malfoy had seen no reason to spare Harry, so the pile he deposited in front of his student still had its foul shells on.  
Then there was the skin. That one, though most students struggled with, Harry didn't mind so much. It was quite like peeling green peas for Aunt Petunia, a thing she had made him do since she had seen on TV that in luxury hotels, the commis chefs had to peel every single pea before they were cooked. Once you got the technic right, it was a mindless but relatively easy job. Once, after he had explained to Ron, Seamus and Dean how he knew how to get the skin from the Feidelmid Beans, they had sneaked to the kitchen to get a bucket of peas and spent the evening trying to skin them. Of course, it had handed in a full-blown pea war, something Hermione had personally held Harry responsible for.  
Juice was definitively the worst of the four. It came from crushing the -skinned- beans, but they were crumbly little shits and it was a nightmare to extract the juice from them without reducing them to a powder. Which would have been fine, considering they wanted to powder the flesh anyway, except for the fact that said powered absorbed the juice and then you had unusable soggy powder and no juice. There was a trick to it, apparently, but Harry had never been able to figure out, no matter how much Hermione helped. It had something to do with feeling for the direction of less resistance and crushing parallel to it in a slow, smooth motion. Needless say, every potion he had made so far with either juice or powder from the Feidelmid Beans had failed big time.

Sighing, the tired Gryffindor put on his gloves and grabbed his first victim. The sooner he started the earlier they'd be done right?

At the pressing step, Harry had managed to save almost three-quarters of his assigned beans. Most of those which had been lost had suffered from a clumsy move of knife during the shelling. All in all, he was pretty proud of himself. However, it probably wouldn't last long now that he had to juice them. Hell, if he could do it properly for even a single one of them, it'd make his day. Malfoy had demonstrated the technic for him again, thrice, but it still looked like he wasn't doing anything special to him...  
The first bean ended up a mushy mess on his workspace. So did the second and the third ones. The fourth flew right through the room as his knife had still been slippery from the juice of the previous beans when he pressed, or rather attacked it. He was especially careful when he applied his blade against the next one, trying to feel for this _direction of less resistance_ , but he must have forgotten the _parallel_ part of the instructions because the thing just collapsed under his knife, not even pretending to resist. He threw a begging glance at Malfoy, but the Slytherin was not paying any attention to him as he prepared his own beans. Apparently, Snape had agreed to let them use the lab on condition that his godson would hand him at least a reasonable amount of properly prepared ingredients. Obviously, his schoolmate didn't have any faith in his capacities for that one...  
He went back to his task, glaring at the offending pile, hoping it would make them vanish. As it, of course, didn't, he reached for the next soon-to-be casualty and soldiered on.

Forty-eight mauled Feidelmid Beans later, Harry threw out knife down in frustration and slid down the legs of his stool to sit on the floor, his head between his hands in dejection.

"Potter?"

"M'not there."

"Don't be ridiculous, Potter. How old are you?"

He was not going to dignify that with an answer.  
And apparently, Malfoy was not going to push him by saying anything more. They settled for an awkward _status quo_ , Harry leaning tiredly against his desk and Malfoy doing who knew what with the beans.

Maybe he would fall asleep. Maybe Malfoy, like Hannah the other day, would believe he was dead and finally leave him alone. Maybe he should just give up being an Auror and quit Potions altogether, it wasn't as if he was going to survive this war anyway. But then, he if started thinking like that, why not quit all his classes and walk to Voldemort's to be done with it. That'd probably give old Dumbledore a stroke... He wasn't going to do that though. Just the idea of the lecture Hermione would give him... Not to forget about Professor McGonagall. Though she didn't seem to care that much about his education, right now.  
Anyway, he didn't really mind the sessions with Malfoy, to be honest. It gave him something to focus on, twice a week, and the git wasn't as insufferable as usual. Indeed, he was somehow better than Ron these days: when he called him an idiot it was for something he had actually done, and he wasn't always pushing him to be _as before_. His dormmates wanted _good old Harry_ back so much, but they didn't understand that he didn't have the strength to be him anymore. He couldn't remember how it was to be excited by the three-headed dog in the forbidden corridor and to care more about Chocolate Frog Cards and Quidditch than about staying alive. What he wouldn't give to go back to this state of childish levity...  
Sirius, he wouldn't give Sirius. But he didn't have him anymore, did he? So it was a moot point anyway.  
For some reason, thinking about Sirius made him think of the moon plant from that morning. The feeling, the draw had been similar to that of the Veil. It was a bit creepy, now that he thought if it. How he had gotten lost in the dance of the light filaments, to the point that he would sacrifice his hand or more to touch it.

"Potter?"

What now? He had almost forgotten about Malfoy, so used that he was now to just losing himself in thoughts and drifting away from his surroundings...

"Hum?"

"I'd like to try something, if that's ok with you?"

Malfoy sounded... hesitant, as if he thought that Harry would refuse. And really, Harry was of half a mind to tell him to fuck off, but somehow, he was still expecting the Slytherin to teach him, wasn't he, or he would have left the room to sulk somewhere else the moment he had decided he couldn't deal with those stupid beans anymore?

"Aren't you going to tell me what?"

"Yes, sure. I think it would be better if I demonstrated the move to you, so you can really get it."

That was his grand idea?

"Malfoy, you've already shown me the move. Like, a hundred times. I don't think one more time is going to make a difference."

He was still sitting at the feet of the desk, curled up with his knees to his chest, but he lifted his head to grace his tutor with the most dubious look he could muster.

"No, that's not what I meant. I want to guide your hand through the move, I guess that's a better explanation. I learned a lot like this when I was younger, it might help get _feel_  what you need to do. But the thing is, it requires me to touch you, so... are you ok with it?"

Touch him? He didn't like people touching him. He wasn't used to it. It was only comfortable with his close friends, Hermione, Ron, Neville maybe. Not Ginny, definitively not Ginny, he also felt...pressured when she was close. Was it so obvious that he wasn't keen on physical contact that Malfoy would have known it might be a problem? Or maybe the other boy was also reluctant to share physical touch with people? But really, it was just touching his hand, they could probably survive that. And at this stage, he was ready for desperate measures...

"Just my hand, right?"

"Well, I'd have to stand behind you, because I can't really guide your right hand with my left, so we might bump into each other, but apart from that, yes, I'll just be holding your hand."

"Ok then."

Harry pulled himself up and faced Malfoy.  
The blond was blushing. Very slightly, but still, it was there. Harry frowned, was there something he was not getting?

He turned slightly to face his desk and picked up the knife he had abandoned earlier. Malfoy's hand was around his before he had had time to think about it. The idea of the blond being so close behind him wasn't exactly comfortable, it was a bit oppressive, but the contact behind their hands was light and far less intrusive that he had expected.  
He grabbed a new bean for the heap of skinned ones and place in in the centre of the workspace. He wasn't sure what his schoolmate wanted him to do now... The Slytherin seemed to sense his hesitation because he directed their hands over the bean and rested the side of the blade over it.

"Now press lightly on it, and tilt the blade just a little in a circular motion."

He led Harry through the movement before stopping him in a particular position.

"There, see how the flesh gives way under even the tiniest pressure?"

"Hum..."

Malfoy moved their hands again, changing the inclination of the knife.

"Compare how it feels here..."

He went back to the previous stop.

"...and here."

Surprisingly, Harry did feel a difference.

"Can we try on others?"

"Sure, take a handful."

Harry did just that and spread them over the table. They proceeded to find the right position for each bean, with a lot of guidance from Malfoy at the beginning, until his student started to gain confidence. After that, juicing was just a question of dosage: it was important to go slowly enough but also never to stop the motion or remove the knife until the juice had been collected as the beans were wont to crumble down when the pressure was released.

When Malfoy finally released his hand and he was able to properly juice the next five beans, Harry felt a wonderful sense of accomplishment bubble up his chest. It had been so long since he had got the feeling that he was doing something right. He turned around and gifted his schoolmate with a smile, admittedly a small one but a true one nonetheless, his first honest smile since summer...

**********

Friday, 4 October 1996, 8 am  
Potions Classroom, Hogwarts

As usual, Snape strode into the class with a blank look of disdain plastered to his face. With a switch of his wand, he floated their homework to his desk. A second one and instructions appeared on the blackboard. He turned to face his students.

"As you should have already deduced if you have done your assigned reading, we will start brewing the Moving-Bowels Solution today. Mister MacMillan, what are the effect of this brew?"

Harry inwardly sighed. They were now used to Snape quizzing them at a fast speed at the beginning of the class, and, as his scapegoat, Harry inevitably ended up with the nastiest questions. It seemed like the Professor was getting revenge from not being able to fail him constantly anymore, as it would have meant failing Malfoy at the same time...

"It stimulates the movement of one's bowels sir, to relieve constipation, in particular."

"Correct, five points to Hufflepuff. Mister Boot, what is the main difficulty of the potion, and what would happen should you not brew it properly?"

"I think that would be the addition of the Feidelmid Beans juice, Professor, as it needs to be pure, and added fresh out of the beans, so one cannot prepare it in advance. If the juice is not fresh enough, the potion would be so potent that the drinker would experience severe pain as their insides try to expel themselves out..."

"Sufficient. Miss Granger, what would happen if an imbecile added impure juice to their cauldrons?"

"It would explode when meeting the stomach bile, sir."

"Indeed, it would. So if one of you dunderheads dare use impure juice because they are too lazy to prepare their ingredients properly, I will personally make sure that they ingest the result of their work, as a warning to the class. Is that clear, Mister Potter?"

Harry was the only one that still hadn't been able to prepare a single bean correctly in class, so it was no wonder Snape targetted him specifically. He also knew that no matter the consequences of a badly brewed potion, the Potion Master would never let him let Malfoy do all the work. But this time, he felt confident. After Tuesday's tutoring session, he was pretty sure he could deal with the dreaded beans in a satisfactory manner. So he nodded decisively to Snape, who only acknowledged him with a sneer before going back to his interrogation.

"Mister Zabini, what are the three variations of ingredients proposed by Maruko Katirci?"

Harry peered into their cauldron. Snape was doing his rounds in the classroom, ridiculing his students' work in his usual way and offering few truly helpful comments. Since he had been paired with Malfoy, Harry had thankfully been spared the vitriol. The Slytherin was truly gifted at Potions and he always managed to salvage their brew, turning it into at least into an acceptable potion, no matter how much Harry messed up. Today, though, Harry had worked on the ingredient preparation while Malfoy supervised the delicate evolution of the solution and the Gryffindor had done a quite good job on his part. Their Moving-Bowels Solution looked exactly the way it was supposed to at this stage, a murky green sludge that did not stick to the copper walls of its container. They would have to let it rest for a full week before diluting it in water and adding the final ingredients, but Harry was pretty hopeful. Maybe this would be his first Outstanding in Potions! Though it might be too much to hope for, considering Snape was still the one grading it...  
As they were done with their brewing but the session still had fifteen minutes to go, Harry sat down next to Malfoy and took out a scroll to start on his homework. However, he was distracted by his teammate leaning closer to whisper, a smug look on his face:

"Good work today, Potter. See, you can do it when you are taught properly!"

What could he say to that... Malfoy had managed to teach him more practical Potions in just a few tutoring session than Snape and Hermione combined over five entire years. He sure deserved recognition for his success. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure that Snape was still on the other side of the room berating Terry Boot over his improper use of Dragonfly Thoraxes, he leant over in turn to answer:

"I guess we both know who I have to thank for my miraculous progress."

Someone, however, did not seem so pleased with Harry's achievements. As soon as they left the classroom, Hermione grabbed his arm and marched him into an empty classroom.

"How did you do that?"

"What?"

"Do play stupid with me, Harry, how did you make a perfect potion? I watched you, almost didn't waste any of your beans, when you couldn't have correctly juiced one to save your life one week ago. So what's that about?"

"Well... Aren't you happy for me, that I'm finally getting somewhere?"

He really couldn't fathom why she was in such a frenzy over it. Sure, she was usually top of the class now that Malfoy had him as a handicap, but she hadn't been so competitive about her grades since Second or Third Year...

"Of course I'm happy for you Harry! I'm sorry if it seemed like I'm not. It's just, it's a bit suspicious you know, and I _know_ that I can trust you to take care of yourself, but you didn't agree to anything stupid with Malfoy, did you?"

"No, why would you think that? I meant, I just agreed to let him touch me, so he could show me how to do it properly..."

"Touch you? What do you mean?"

Her voice was pitched and she was staring at him with wide eyes.

"Well, he like, guided my hand through the moves, so I would get it. I never thought you could learn like that."

"That's all? You had me worried here, you idiot! I'm really glad if he found out a way to teach you, then. Do you think I could join you? I promise I won't antagonise him or anything, like Ron did."

She was really working on a higher frequency than he did... He was still trying to process what she had been _worried_ about, and now she was both relieved and excited about his explanation.

"I'm not sure... I'd have to tell him to bring Zabini again, and I kind of like the quiet, when it's just the two of us..."

"Couldn't you ask him if he'd mind it, if I joined? It's not going to be a duelling practice, so it does not really matter if the numbers are not even, does it?"

"You're right. I'll ask him on Saturday alright? If he says yes you can join us next Tuesday? I think he wants me to do the Herbicide Potion."

Hermione opened the door for them to go to lunch. She looked quite enthusiastic, though Harry could quite figure out what was so interesting about watching Malfoy teach him Potions.

"Why do you want to come, anyway? I mean, it's not like we're doing anything that you don't already know, and I'm sure Snape would let you use one of the labs if you wanted some extra practice..."

"Oh, I haven't told you, have I? It was during the summer when we still weren't allowed to contact you... I was talking with Professor McGonagall about Professor Dumbledore's work as a Headmaster. We both agreed that endangering the students by allowing dangerous creatures inside the school had not been his only mistakes, though she still believed that he did a truly good job overall. I'm not too sure about that, so I've decided to look into the history of teaching at Hogwarts and the different pedagogies in wizarding schools all over the world. That's why I was suspicious before, too. I've discovered that they are some rituals that allow someone to pass on some skills to another person, but they are on a rather dark side of Grey magic. Anyway, I've been reading this rather fantastic essay on mentorship in Amazonian Wizarding Communities, where most children do not go to school. Instead, they are paired up with a mentor and gradually taught all magic the mentor knows of..."

Amused, Harry followed Hermione to Gryffindor table and sat down next to Neville. He was glad she had found something new to pour her energy in, something probably more suitable than the defence of house-elves. His friend was a force to be reckoned with, if someone could improve education it would be her. And there was definitively flaws in the current system.

As he listened to her, the Great Hall filled up with students. Those Sixth Years who didn't take Potions had just had a free period. It became obvious that not all of them had been using the time to study as a group of boisterous Gryffindors burst into the room, dressed up in Quidditch gear and still red in the face from the wind and the effort. Ron, Dean and Seamus plopped down on the bench in from of them, immediately starting to fill their plates with the food on offer, while Katie and her friend Leanne went to sit with their fellow Seven Years.  
Hermione made a noise of disgust as Ron began to stuff his mouth and made to tell him off, effectively cutting her explanations on wizarding instruction in the Amazonian Forest short.

"Ron, really, do you have to put so much food in your mouth in one go? The mashed potatoes aren't going to run away, you know?"

"Sh'orry 'Mione"

Ron gulped down his mouthful.

"So, how much of an ass was the greasy git this morning?"

Harry made a face. Even though he would have been allowed in, Ron had decided to forego Potions. He had said that there was no point in suffering through two more years of torture and if that was what it took to become an Auror then he'd find another career. Apparently, when he had made the announcement at the end of the summer, Molly had gone crazy with the idea that one of her children would abandon the pursuit of their dream job because of laziness. And then she had realised that it meant Ron would probably end up working a much safer job than if he had been an Auror and suddenly she was all for him dropping Potions. Hermione, however, hadn't forgiven him for it yet.  
Anyway, as he did not have to suffer through six weekly hours with Snape, Ron had a lot of fun asking about the latest -sour- moods of said Professor.

"Same as usual, he snarked at everyone except for Malfoy who he totally ignored. Oh, and yeah, he promised to make me drink my potion to show the others how it would make my insides explode if I dared failed..."

"What? That's a new one!"

Harry shrugged. Snape hated him and had been quite vocal about it since the beginning of his school years. He was pretty much used to it now.

"Well, I guess that's the only good point about working with the ferret, he knows his way around a cauldron... I bet he didn't realise that he was saving your life, else he'd probably have botched the potion on purpose! What?!"

Ron was crying out indignantly after Hermione stomped his foot. Apparently, she was even more annoyed than Harry at their red-head friend's insensitivity.

"Actually, Harry did a fantastic job today! He definitively had a part in the quality of their potion. Which you would have known if you'd had been so half-arsed about your studies, and had continued Potions with us!"

Ron snorted.

"Right, no offence mate, but we both know you wouldn't be able to pull a N.E.W.T. level potion on your own..."

This time, even Dean and Seamus were staring at him in surprise. Harry himself was torn between resentment at the low expectations his friend had of him and indifference because that was just how Ron was. He didn't want to be mean or hurt anyone, but he couldn't help trampling all over people's feeling with his insensitive comments.  
However, he could feel Hermione boiling next to him and decided to intervene before she could snap. He really didn't need any more drama today, or any day really, and Hermione giving Ron a tongue-lashing in front of the entire school counted very much as drama.

"Maybe not now, but you know, I'm starting to think that I'll be able to before the year is over. As you said, Malfoy knows his way around a cauldron. He is also a more than decent teacher when he wants to be."

"Malfoy again! I bet soon you'll start saying Snape's not a greasy dungeon bat either! Why don't you move to sit with your slimy friends, if you like snakes so much!"

"Twenty points from Gryffindor, Mister Weasley, and I'll be seeing you tonight in detention."

None of them had seen Snape approach their table, but he had obviously been near enough to hear Ron's last blunder. With a glare to their professor, the red-faced Gryffindor got back to his food with a vengeance. A rather tensed silence settled on their table.

**********

Saturday, 5 October 1996, 3 pm  
Room of Requirement, Hogwarts

Draco and Potter were lying on the floor, side by side. They were breathing hard, trying to recover from the silly duel they had just fought. Potter had wanted to work on reflexes and agility. Casting against dummies didn't improve one's footwork in any way, so they had decided by joint agreement to duel against each other. For safety purpose -Draco really didn't want to see Potter lose it again, especially considering that this time they did not have seconds to act as shields, they had restricted their casting to a short list of spells. Among those, they had used and abused of the Tickling and the Dancing Feet spells. It was probably the less dignified duel Wizarding History had ever seen, but they had had fun.

Fun. He had had fun with Potter. Draco wasn't sure how he felt about that. On the one hand, he still very much wanted the friendship of the Boy-Who-Lived, the Potter Heir. It still smarted to think of how he had been rejected on the train when they had entered Hogwarts. Of course, he had been a right brat at the time...  
On the other hand, he was supposed to manipulate Potter into following him back to the Dark Lord. No matter how much saner his Lord now looked and sounded, Draco would still be willing to bet his newest broom that he did not just want to invite Potter over some tea... But then, maybe if the naive Gryffindor was truly willing to join their side, the Dark Lord would spare him.  
Of course, there wasn't any hope that Potter would turn Dark. His schoolmate was too straightforward, too _empathic_. He would never adhere to the violence that went with overtaking a community.

"Say, Malfoy?"

Draco berated himself internally: now was not the time to think about the Dark Lord and his plans to rally Potter to their cause! If he sounded even slightly insincere in his attempts to befriend him, he was sure the Gryffindor would baulk...

"Potter?"

"I've told Hermione how you taught me how to juice the beans and she'd like to join our tutoring sessions. Mainly the Potions one I think. She's researching how magic is taught around the world and I guess she was impressed by the progress I made thanks to you..."

Draco pondered the question. Having the Mudblood along would probably make it more difficult to subtly test Potter for his political views, but at the same time maybe he could bait her with knowledge. Introduce everything from a theoretical point of view. Despite her lineage, she had become a rather bright witch, certainly much more tolerable than the other third of their mismatched trio.

"I guess her presence would be bearable. Please do not bring any of your birdbrain friends, though, Potter. I have every reason not to trust Weasley and the likes around me..."

"Of course, no, it would be just Hermione! Ron and I are... having a rough patch, at the moment, anyway..."

Draco smirked. Like anyone could have overlooked that skirmish at the Gryffindor table the other day.

"Hum, by the way, before I explained, she was really worried about how fast I had progressed. She said that there were some rituals that could make people share their knowledge. But she didn't want to elaborate, so I thought I'd ask you. If one can just learn anything with magic, why would anyone bother with classes and everything?"

Draco stifled a laugh. Usually, the ignorant comments of Muggle-raised students annoyed him, but he always found Potter to be on the funny side of ridiculous. He never belittled wizarding traditions and seemed to still be in awe with the magical world after five years in it.

"I'm not surprised that she wouldn't want to elaborate. Those rituals are either Dark Magic requiring a live sacrifice or Sex Magic."

"Sex Magic?"

By the sound of his voice, Potter had never heard of it. Draco shifted to lie on his side, so he'd be able to see the face of the Gryffindor when he explained what kind of rituals his know-it-all friend had thought he had been doing...

"Yes. Sex Magic is a branch of magic that is generally considered to be Grey because its goal is not to cause harm but it still needs to be dealt with carefully. It always involves some kind of sexual act to ground the casting, though the exact nature depends on the objective. For this particular case, I believe the receiver needs to have penetrative sex with the giver. Though there might be variations I don't know of that are suitable for a pair of women. If the couple wants the exchange to be long-term, they need to renew the ritual regularly."

When he understood, his schoolmate pulled a disgusted face.

"Oh God! That's why she freaked out when I said that I had let you touch me!"

Draco couldn't hold his mirth anymore and exploded with laughter.

"You told her that? Really, Potter, even without taking the rituals into account, what a terrible wording! It sounds like I've been molesting you in exchange for lessons..."

Potter rolled away and stood up, his face bright. Whether it was in anger or in embarrassment, Draco could only guess, but he had apparently gone too far and broken the companionable mood.

"It's not my fault if the entire planet needs to get their mind out of the gutter!"

Potter humphed. He started to gather his things, obviously intent on leaving. Draco sat down and tried to salvage the situation.

"Come on, Potter, I'm sorry, the bad wording was mine to begin with anyway... How about Granger can come to both Potions _and_ Defense tutoring, if she wants to? Does that make it up to you?"

The Gryffindor hesitated half-way through the door, so he ploughed on.

"I promise I won't make any comment on her lineage."

That seemed to do the trick a little too well. Potter was now facing him, a very suspicious look on his face.

"You seem awfully attached to my approval... What is it you're not telling me, Malfoy?"

Merlin's balls, he had not expected this situation! Not anymore, anyway, not after Potter hadn't even batted an eyelid when his years-long school enemy, whose father had tried to kill him and his friends, had all but demanded to tutor him in Potions... Saying that he enjoyed their tutoring sessions wouldn't be enough. Though it was true.  
The truth was out of question, as far as he knew Potter was still the Light Champion through and through. He could say that with his father in Azkaban, Mother intended to sever the ties of the family with the Dark Lord and had ordered him to secure connexions with the Light Side. But it would be barely believable: if the Malfoys were indeed defecting Draco would have been shunned by his housemates, if not outward bullied. In addition to this, he was pretty sure that involving politics in this tentative relationship was the best way to make the Gryffindor run away as fast as he could...  
He needed something personal. Something like how he was still hurt that Potter had rejected his friendship in First Year, though he understood that he had deserved at the time. However, he was unwilling to present himself has some kind of friendship whore that could not stand not being the centre of the world. Plus, considering how touchy his schoolmate was with public attention, the dark-haired boy might think that he was just some star-struck idiot in awe before the Great Harry Potter.

Something personal then, but personal both for him and Potter. Something that would explain why he had changed his demeanour towards the boy now, and not before. Something that would catch him unexpected...  
Draco was starting to feel the pressure of Potter's gaze on him as the silence drew on. Behind his emotionless mask, he was trying to think as fast as he could, to find an explanation that would satisfy the Gryffindor. To buy some time, he sighed dramatically and patted the space next to him, trying to mislead Potter that he was caving and was going to reveal the secrets behind his behaviour.

Potter did come near and sat down, but his stance was much more guarded than usual. He had his arms around his bent legs and looked ready to bolt the moment the Slytherin became a threat. This reminded Draco of himself, whenever his father gave him one of his frequent lectures on family honour and the sacrifices required in order to protect the Malfoy name.  
A metaphorical light bulb turned on in his mind: his learning that Potter had been abused by his Muggle family could very well explain why he was now trying to connect with the other. After all, the Golden Boy wasn't the only one about whom everyone else thought that they were being treated like royalty when their home situation was actually far from ideal...  
Of course, he would have to expose some of his own home life, but he didn't think Potter would judge him for it. What had started as a catastrophe could actually help further his goals, if he played it well. Expect now, he felt bad for thinking that. While the mission for the Dark Lord was important, if only because his own life and that of his mother depended on it, he had to admit that he was starting to feel a kinship with Potter.

He cleared his throat and looked at his feet. The so-called Pureblood mask slipped. He didn't have to fake his emotions on this because no matter how much he tried to steel himself against them, they were stirred up every time his father _disciplined_ him. Which was far too often.

"I think we are a lot alike."

He really wasn't sure how to approach the subject. Really, he was half-expecting Potter to just sneer at him and tell him that a spoiled brat like him had nothing to complain about. But the Gryffindor didn't. He didn't say anything. Looked like he was going to let Draco talk it out.

The blond teenager took a deep breath.

"I was glad when I was told that my father had been caught, last year. I wanted to thank you for it, but of course, it was impossible. And then, this summer, we learned about your relatives and how they treated you. I thought, so I'm not the only one. The only one having to act though in public to live up to people's expectations, when in private they just get beaten around for breathing wrong."

Silence. Draco raised his eyes from his shoes and searched his schoolmate's face. It was pale and drawn, it made Draco wonder how much sleep the other actually had at night.

"It's so ridiculous. You, the Gryffindor Golden Boy, and me, the Slytherin Ice Prince, asked to be something we cannot by the very people who should love us unconditionally... Well, Mother loves me without questions and I'm forever thankful for that. I know that I have it much better than you did... but I ever since we've met up again at the start of the year, I can't help thinking: that person can understand. It's not that I _want_ to talk about it. I just feel better thinking that maybe, if I wanted too, there'd be someone who gets it..."

Refusing to meet the other's eyes, Draco laughed in self-depreciation. Merlin, he was pathetic! The worst thing was that as he had said it, he had realised that it was partially true. It did feel good to be around Potter because he trusted him not to humiliate him if he cracked.

"Go on, you can say it. I'm pitiful, begging for your friendship like that. Let's just pretend it never happened..."

Just then, a hand was shoved under his nose.

"I'm Harry. Nice to meet you."

Startled, Draco looked up. The Gryffindor was staring at him very seriously, waiting for him to shake his hand.

"Draco. Nice to meet you too."

"My relatives are bastards and the world expect me to kill the most powerful Dark Wizard alive."

"My father's an asshole and I'm supposed to kiss said Dark Wizard's feet."

"Eurk!"

Potter's reaction sent them both in stupid giggles for the next few minutes. However, their moment was interrupted by a firm knock on the door. They shared a look before standing up. They took a moment to straighten their clothes. Potter, Harry, went to open the door. On its other side stood Granger, her hand raised as if she was preparing to knock a second time.

"Harry, good! I'm sorry to interrupt, but Professor McGonagall is asking around for you. Apparently, it's urgent. Oh, hi, Malfoy."

Not wanting his newly made friend to think he was eavesdropping, Draco had moved to stand in Granger's line of vision.

"Good afternoon, Granger."

They locked eyes, taking the measure of the other, while Harry collected his bag and grumbled about demanding Headmasters. They moved out of the room and down the hallways, before reaching the stairs that would lead Draco down to the dungeons. His green-eyed schoolmate gave him a shy, awkward wave to bid him goodbye.

"See you around Mal... Draco. Take care."

"Same to you Harry."

Granger threw him one last questioning look before she followed her Gryffindor friend to the Headmistress's office. At least, she had not hexed him for Confusing or Imperioing Harry... It was a good start.

**********  
  
Saturday, 5 October 1996, 6 pm  
Headmistress's Office, Hogwarts

The moment he stepped through the door, Harry knew something was wrong. In addition to Professor McGonagall, the office was crowded with no less than his Defence and Potions Professors, the Minister of Magic, one of the social workers responsible for him and, last but not least, Albus Dumbledore. He was supposed to be banned from school grounds!  
They all looked grim as McGonagall waved him to a seat. Well, all except Snape of course, who only looked like he hated humans, the world and specifically Harry's guts. Harry made to sit on the stool in the corner, as far as he could from Dumbledore and Scrimgeour, but Moody banished it before he could reach it, leaving him with only one free chair in the room, between the two men he was trying to avoid... He glared at the retired Auror for form.

As soon as he had settled down, the Minister took the helm of the meeting. Though, it soon became clear that he was just there as a caution for Dumbledore because he would not have thought of all this by himself.

"Mister Potter, I am glad that you could join us. I am afraid that the matter bringing us together this afternoon is grave. You are a primary target for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's troops. Consequently, it has been decided by the Ministry that you require additional means of protection. They have been discussed with your representative in the Office of Wizarding Child and Family Affairs, Miss Hope, which agreed to be here today to supervise this meeting. I hope you will understand that we do not wish to impede on your teenage years in any way, but your survival and that of the Wizarding World come first..."

Great, so they still expected him to sacrifice himself to save the world...

"Do I have to agree?"

His former Headmaster exchanged a meaningful glance with Scrimgeour. Apparently, his reaction did not surprise them. Well, after the tantrum he had throw in this very office at the end of the previous year, he couldn't really blame Dumbledore for expecting him to be rebellious...

It was the witch for the social services who answered.

"As you are underage and a ward of the state, the Office of Wizarding Child and Family Affairs is in charge of this kind of decisions. I have discussed at length with everyone in this room and I believe we have come to a sensible arrangement. You will undergo specific training with Professors Snape and Moody. They have agreed to a schedule that will only take a reasonable amount of your time. They will also monitor your mail. They have taken an oath to keep its content quiet unless they have reasons to believe it could endanger your life."

Right. She had discussed at length with everyone in the room... except for him! Once again, no one was asking for his opinion while planning for his life. And reading his mail? How could they agree to something like that! Weren't they supposed to guarantee his rights? He would have to ask Hermione about it, but he was pretty sure reading someone's mail was considered a crime or something.

But apparently, they weren't done. This time Dumbledore spoke up, placing an engraved metallic bracelet on the desk.

"Harry, my boy, please believe me when I say I am sorry for what you have been put through. I have insisted on being allowed to play on part in your protection. This bracelet is an emergency Portkey, in case you are captured. It will work even from behind Apparition Wards. It will activate automatically if you are in great distress, but you can also trigger it by saying "Honest heart". As a safety measure, only I will be able to remove it from your arm so that your enemies cannot tear it away. It also has a number of light protection charms on it, which can always be useful."

Harry eyed the wristband suspiciously. There could be any kind of spell on it, tracers, compulsion charms,... None of the adults in the room would have had any reason to check that it was safe. They probably would have had the skills anyway. He tried to weasel out of it.

"Is it really safe, though? What about if I get kidnapped and they see that they can't take it off so they decide to, I don't know, cut my arm or something?"

Scrimgeour looked very satisfied by his question.

"This is the beauty of it! If anyone tried to cut your arm, for example, or burn it or detach it from your body in any way, the Portkey will activate before they are able too. Isn't Lord Dumbledore a genius?"

No one else looked excited about Dumbledore's abilities -when did he become a Lord anyway, but Harry could see that he was not going to convince them to let the bracelet drop. So he held his hand out and gritted his teeth when the old bearded wizard closed the band around his wrist and muttered an incantation that fused the ends together, effectively trapping his arm in it.

After that, the adults quickly got rid of him, probably so they could discuss how else to make his life miserable.  
Hermione had been waiting for him in front of the gargoyle, but he motioned her to follow him before she could ask any question. He did not want to discuss what had just happened in the hallways, where the portraits would no doubt eavesdrop and report his complaints to the Headmistress. He felt like Professor McGonagall had betrayed him. Dumbledore wasn't supposed to be allowed to set foot in the school, or to interact with him, and still she let it happen, organised it even! He had believed that even if she might not care about him personally and saw him more as a pawn in the war, her work ethics would have made her protect him as a student...  
He wanted to go to the Room of Requirement to talk with Hermione, but it was dinner time and they would undoubtfully get in trouble if they skipped the meal. So he reluctantly made his way to the Great Hall, the comforting presence of his friend behind his back. He was really tired of all the drama...

**********  
  
Monday, 7 October 1996, 7 am  
Great Hall, Hogwarts

"Here is your amended timetable, Mister Potter. Professor Snape has a prior commitment tonight, but Professor Moody will be expecting you in the Entrance Hall tomorrow night."

Professor McGonagall handed him his new schedule while he was having breakfast at the Gryffindor table. Of course, whispers started immediately to speculate on why Harry Potter was getting special treatment again. Harry took a look at the said timetable. Well, if they saw it, they wouldn't be so jealous anymore...  
He still had all of his regular classes, of course, but in addition to it, he now had Occlumency with Snape every other evening during the week and duelling with Moody on Tuesday night as well as all Saturdays. They had graciously left his free periods alone, but he knew that there was absolutely no way he would ever be able to keep up with his studies with the additional workload. Hermione, who had been glancing at the paper over his shoulder, apparently shared his opinion on the subject because she quietly offered to help him with any homework he needed.

As he set the parchment aside to continue his breakfast, he noticed that Ron kept throwing smug looks his way. For some reason, this annoyed him to no end. The git wasn't even talking to him anymore since he had gotten a detention for calling Snape's names, so why would it matter to him that Harry was going to get additional training? Apart from the fact that it would make his life miserable, that is, but even Ron wasn't that petty, was he? Well, all things considered, maybe he was...  
The red-head had apparently caught him staring because he called Harry out in a self-satisfied manner:

"Won't have so much time to chum with the enemy, now, will you?"

"What?"

Ron leant over the table to speak quietly to Harry, giving their conversation an appearance of privacy, but all their neighbours were clearly listening in.

"Mate, I understand that life is harsh on you, but it's really not a reason to go and fuck it all up. We can't let Vo-Voldemort take over, no matter the price... Hopefully, training will make you remember what we're fighting against."

It was obvious that Ron believed in what he was saying. He felt righteous in helping the Boy-Who-Lived back on the right track and he didn't see that it was destroying the human behind the hero. Harry was feeling a bit nauseous. His best friend of five years had... sold him to the man responsible for his wretched childhood, all because he had been lured into the black-and-white picture of life that Dumbledore had painted to them.

"Ron?"

Hermione called their friend's -or maybe former friend's- name in a deceptively calm manner. When he turned around to answer, she drew her fist back and punched him square in the nose. Gryffindor table collectively gasped. Hermione humphed. Ron squeaked in surprise before howling in pain as he hid his broken nose in his hands. Professor McGonagall shrieked Hermione's name and assigned her a week of detention with Filch. Slytherin table, which quickly caught on what had happened, started clapping. In the midst of all this turmoil, Harry just stared at his friend in admiration, and she graced him with a small, proud smile, before stuffing a few toasts and fruits in her bag and leaving the Great Hall. Harry quickly stood up to follow her. No need to stay seated among people that believed he was turning Dark because he was making friends with a Slytherin and not wanting to play Quidditch anymore...

**********  
  
Monday, 7 October 1996, 2 pm  
Potions Classroom, Hogwarts

Draco and Harry had been working quietly on their potion for the past hour. Severus was in a foul mood, and considering the murderous gleam his eyes took every time he looked at his partner, Draco could guess that it had something to do with Harry.  
If the rumour that went around the school was true, the Gryffindor now had additional classes with Severus and their unstable Defense Professor. Draco could guess how this perspective would rejoice his godfather. The man hated teaching and literally loathed Harry Potter. Though in hindsight, Draco could see that it was only because he was the son of his school years bully: contrary to what Severus claimed, it was obvious that Harry was far from arrogant. Admittedly, he did have a thing for rule-breaking, but after the trial that summer, Draco was quite sure that it was more a result of Dumbledore's manipulations than a true trait of character.

They had reached a point where the brew had to simmer for twenty minutes. Severus had assigned reading to do during that time, but Draco had already read the book from front to cover twice and felt quite confident he'd be able to name the fifteen uses of dragonfly wings in medicinal potions if asked. So instead of opening his book to the chapter written on the board, he took out his notes on the personal potion project he was currently working on. He knew from experience Severus trusted him to have finished the compulsory readings before he worked on any independent studies in his class. However, soon after he had started re-reading his last thoughts on the choice of cauldron for his experiment, he was interrupted by his brewing partner whispering:

"Draco?"

"Yes?"

"Could you explain this to me? I feel like I'm reading in a foreign language..."

"Sure, bring it here."

He made room for Harry's book in the middle of the table and started outlining the information contained on the page. As he was detailing the second point, he caught their professor stalking toward them from his desk. He turned his head without stopping his explanations and met his godfather's glower with a glare of his own. He hoped Severus would get the point, after all, he knew that he had been tasked with getting closer to the Boy-Who-Lived.  
The Potions Professor frown deepened and for one moment Draco thought that he was going to chew their heads off for chatting in class. Then, instead of stopping next to them, the man continued his route to Patil's desk and proceeded to demolish her self-esteem by commenting on every single mistake she had made with her potion, before vanishing the content of the cauldron and assigning detention to her so she could brew the potion again. Foul mood indeed! Draco felt slightly guilty about it, but then, she probably would have had a failing grade even if he had not annoyed his godfather more than he had already been...

After the class, Harry stopped him before he could leave to change for dinner.

"Draco, I imagine you have heard, but Professor McGonagall's added some classes to my schedule. We're going to have to move our Defense tutoring, because I have duelling all Saturday now. I pretty much only have Sunday left open... I hope that works for you?"

"Only Sunday? Do they want to kill you?"

It was preposterous. Sixth Year by itself was challenging, and most students needed the entire weekend to complete their homework. And it was obvious that Harry was struggling with his studies already. The only classes he wasn't behind in were Defense, thanks to his natural abilities, and Potions, though only for the practical part. The theory behind potions was clearly still a bit too much for him... How did they expect him to pass his N.E.W.T.s if they suffocated him under additional classes?  
Harry shrugged his shoulders.

"Yeah, tell me about it..."

"Sunday, same time and place as Saturday, then?"

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it. It makes no difference for me, to be honest. And you should have Granger coming with because it'll probably be a bad idea for you to exert yourself after having duelled all Saturday..."

If Sundays were going to be Harry's only free time in the week, Draco would have felt bad cutting the Gryffindor's time with his best friend even shorter, no matter what he thought of the brainy girl. He was rewarded with a tiny smile, Harry obviously appreciating his efforts to play nice with the Mud... Muggleborn.

**********  
  
Monday, 7 October 1996, 8 pm  
Sixth Year Dormitories, Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts

After dinner, Harry had declined Hermione's offer to join her in the library to research self-human transfigurations for the monstrous essay McGonagall had assigned. He knew she'd share the result of her investigations with him, and he needed the free evening to work on his more urgent homework. He had felt slightly better this weekend than during the summer or the first month of school, which had enabled him to make good way on his assignments, but he had had some much backlog that he still had two essays to write and a ridiculously long list of charms to practice before Wednesday. Maybe he'd be able to incorporate some of those in his duelling training the following evening with Moody?

The Common Room had been far too noisy to attempt to focus, so he had made his way up to his dorms, dodging Colin Creevey and his infernal camera.

Stepping inside the room, he hesitated at the sight of Ron laying on his stomach on his bed with a Quidditch magazine. He had not paid any special attention while crossing the Common Room, but he would have expected the red-head to be downstairs playing Exploding Snaps or maybe scrambling to finish a last minute piece of homework. Harry squared his shoulders and made his way to his bed: no matter how tensed things were between them at the moment, this was his dorm as much as his friend's and he wouldn't let Ron's presence chase him out.  
He tossed his bag on his nightstand and settled against the headboard, sitting cross-legged on the burgundy bed cover. Defence first, since he already had his essay outlaid and only needed to do the actual writing.

Twenty minutes later, he was reading over his paper. He was quite satisfied with it. He did have to correct of few spelling mistakes, but the quiet had done wonder for his concentration. He had only been disturbed once by Neville swinging by for an Herbology tome, and even if Ron had been shifting non-stop on the bed next to him -had they been talking he would have probably teased him about needing the bathroom- the atmosphere had been more peaceful than even the library.

However, this came to an end as he started on his Divination essay -Choose a recurring theme in your divinings and elaborate on five corresponding symbolics from three different scrying methods. He had picked death as his theme, a sure way to please the slightly loopy Professor. A fleeting thought that Divination homework was much funnier when he had Ron to fool around with made him glance at his friend. The freckled Gryffindor had moved to sit on his bed and was staring at him, frowning.  
Whatever Ron had been contemplating, Harry's eyes on him was apparently the trigger because he turned crimson and mumbled something inaudible under his breath.

"What was that?"

Harry raised one of his eyebrows. He wasn't sure what Ron was planning to say, but he wasn't going to make it easy for him. No matter how scared Ron had been during that duelling session, it didn't excuse how much of a jerk the redhead had been in the last weeks!

"I said, I had a talk with Ginny, and Hermione, and well... They made me realise I've been kind of a prick lately."

Understatement of the century!

"So I wanted to say, I'm sorry... I mean, I really shouldn't have sent that note to Dumbledore. And if you want to be friends with those Slytherins, well, I guess I'll just have to suck it up and have your back, won't I?"

Was that supposed to be an apology? Harry felt bitter.

"Thanks for the show of support..."

If possible, Ron's complexion turned an even darker red and the ashamed Gryffindor slumped down on his bed, his hands caught under his backside.

"Yeah, right, I'm just... I mean! I'm not sure, I don't know, it's not like I can undo it... For Merlin's sake, I've completely betrayed you when I sent Dumbledore that note!"

Ron exploded on that last sentence, as if he was outraged on Harry's behalf. He sprang up again and started pacing, pulling on his hair.

"It's like Fourth Year all over again. I want to help you but don't know how and can't swallow my blasted pride, and I have the emotional range of a teaspoon, as Hermione said, so I just come up with some stupid plan to help you without saying that I'm helping you but I hope you'll know that I am so you won't be mad at me for letting you down all over again, except I'm only good at chess and not people and, feelings, you know, so I fucked it up. And I knew I was fucking up, but what was I supposed to do, come and tell you, hey, mate, I've just stabbed you in the back but it was an accident? But then you'd just dump me and you'd be easy prey for the slimy snakes, cause no matter what you say and I understand that I have no right to decide who you can be friends with, they're up to no good and I'm really worried about you here mate, I know I went about it totally the wrong way but Merlin, you spooked me in that room when you freaked out and you nearly killed me, then you were only worried about the Slytherins and really, how can you be sure they didn't mess up with your head? Expect because of my dumb reaction, now you are spending your time with Malfoy and the like and I feel like I'm the worse friend ever and Hermione and my sister chewing my head off are not helping, bloody hell, even the twins sent me a warning to get my act together because Ginny ratted on me but I know if I were you I'd never forgive myself, I mean me, damn, I mean, I was a jerk and please please forgive me?"

Harry stared at him in confusion. The loud tirade had made him feel as if his brain had been trampled by an enraged bull, too many words and erratic sentences charged with emotions he didn't feel capable of dealing with right now.  
He got that Ron had been worried, for himself and for Harry, and that the whole mess had been him reacting dumbly. But really, how stupid did one need to be to think that contacting their friend's abuser for help was ok, no matter the reason?  
The crux of the problem was that Harry didn't feel like he missed Ron's company that much. Sure, it would be nice to be back on friendly terms with him, but what Harry had shared with him, Quidditch, the reckless adventures, slacking off in the Common Room while Hermione was nagging at them... It wasn't really his life anymore. At least for the Quidditch and the slacking off. He really hoped he wouldn't have any more crazy adventure this year, because, honestly, he didn't have the energy to spare.  
Before, whenever Ron messed up, Harry suffered from the rift and was all too happy to welcome him back whenever the ham-handed teen apologised. And often, even if he didn't apologise. This time, Harry wasn't so sure it mattered. It was a bit sad, however, to let a friendship die like that. His very first friendship. They were growing up, after all, and they were due to change, but it didn't mean they couldn't learn to share new things. Who knew, maybe Ron could even come to be civil with Draco? After all, Harry had hated the Slytherin's guts as much as his redhead friend before this year...

Yes, he would be the better man and take Ron's offer of reconciliation. He would give him time to get used to the new, slow and foggy dynamic of Harry's life. And Ron would have to show that he was able to grow up a bit and leave his preconceptions behind. Cause Harry was not churning Draco's friendship again!


	13. The ring and the bracelet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, here is a chapter to celebrate the beginning of NaNoWriMo, during which I will hopefully make good headways on this story :) I'll post a chapter for every 10000 words mark I reach this month, to motivate myself. Enjoy!
> 
> (Still looking for a beta by the way)

Tuesday, 8 October 1996, 3 pm  
Spare potions lab, Dungeons Four, Hogwarts

"Malfoy."

"Granger."

Hermione was standing just inside the door, facing Malfoy. No matter how much she supported Harry in his choices, it was still rather awkward to be acting civil toward the blond Slytherin. After all, they didn't have the best history, and in their previous years, he had demonstrated that he was the worst kind of prejudiced spoiled brat. She was willing to give him another chance because of Harry, but she was still uncomfortable.

She moved to the table her friend at settled on and grabbed a stool so she could sit next to him. She had brought a book and a Muggle pad to take notes, she was only planning to observe, but apparently, Malfoy had other ideas.

"Professor Snape is letting us use this lab in exchange for ingredient preparation. So if you're going to stay Granger, you should pick a table and work on one of those. Just leave enough of whichever you pick for Harry to practice on."

He gestured toward a large tray on the teacher's desk. On it were jars and buckets of about ten different kinds of raw potion ingredients, waiting for the three students to process them. She walked closer and perused the selection. Most of them she knew her best friend had trouble with, so she decided not to choose them to leave plenty for him to train on. Some of the ingredients left required meticulousness and she wanted to be able to pay attention to the way Malfoy was teaching, so she ignored those too. Finally, she selected a bucket of Flobberworms. Milking the brown worms was a disgusting task, but it was easy and considering the number of detentions Harry had spent doing just that, she knew he wouldn't have a problem with them.  
She sat down at the table facing Harry's, the room being arranged in a strange U-shape with the teacher's desk at the back, and put the bucket and an empty jar down on it. Another advantage of the task she had chosen was that it didn't require any specific tool. She had not thought to bring her potions kit, so she would have to borrow whatever she needed from her two classmates.  
As she grabbed her first worm and squeezed it gently over the jar, Malfoy explained that they would only work on ingredients this session, instead of going through the full process of making a potion as they usually did. He had specifically selected the ingredients they would be working with on Thursday so Harry would feel comfortable preparing them then. It was pretty good thinking. Usually, Harry and Ron refused to do any work in advance for classes, so they were left scrambling to catch up afterwards and she was always picking up the pieces. She did feel a bit peeved that the Slytherin was the one that had managed to instil proper learning methods in her friend when she herself had been trying for five years without any result...  
When Harry pointed to her and brought up that there was no Floggerworm mucus in the Moving-Bowels Solution, Malfoy congratulated him playfully.

"They are for warm-up. I thought you'd appreciate it before tackling more difficult tasks."

She saw Harry's raised eyebrow, apparently he wasn't convinced. It turned out that he was right because their blond classmate added, laughingly:

"Ok, ok, Snape forced them on me. I believe he was regretting not giving us a detention for talking in his class yesterday."

Hermione looked down at the Floggerworm she was milking and back up at Malfoy. She glared at him.

"If this is punishment for chattering in Potions, how come I'm the one dealing with it?"

"Well, I let you pick..."

He didn't sound remorseful in the least, maybe even a bit satisfied. She rolled her eyes. Of course, the Slytherin would have had an ulterior motive when asking her to take a part in the ingredient preparation. Having someone do their punishment in his stead, typical...  
Probably sensing the tension, Harry brought back the focus on himself.

"So, what's for starters?"

"Powdered snake fangs."

Malfoy set a jar down on Harry's table. Inside floated an assortment of crooked teeth. It was one of the ingredients that required meticulousness, as one could easy cut themselves on the shards while crushing the fangs under their pestle. It was not overly difficult, however, so she was interested in what Malfoy would have to say about its preparation.

Turned out he didn't have much to say on it apart from punctilious comments on the influence of the size of the grain on the fusion temperature. They went completely over Harry's head until Malfoy caught the lost look on his student's face and stopped short.

"Listen, think about it like that. The ingredients already in your potion, they are workers. And the grains are small mountains or rock that they had to break. If it's a very small grain, one or two workers can deal with it in no time. But if it's much bigger, then even if you put workers all around it they will need to shovel for some time before they reach the middle. Except time is the essence here! If you don't demolish the mountains fast enough the workers are going to die. Luckily, you have a way to make your workers labour faster: the temperature. Imagine turning the fire on is like pouring some Pepper-Up directly in their blood. The bigger the grain, the warmer the brew needs to be if you don't want it to go to waste!"

Harry raised one eyebrow and complained.

"Really? If it's that simple, why don't they explain it like that in the book, instead of using all those complicated Arithmancy concepts?"

The question had Draco thinking for a while.

"Well, they definitively could explain it in a simpler way. But I guess this amount of precision is considered N.E.W.T. level and even then you can do without. The author probably thought that all students in Advanced Potions would have also taken Arithmancy, since it is very useful for it. And we all know how much Snape cares about students that have difficulties in his class..."

She hated this careless attitude wizards had toward problems they perceived as out of their league! House-elves like to serve, slavery isn't a problem anymore. Voldemort is too powerful for regular wizards, even Aurors, to fight against? Let's just leave the job in the hands of an high-school student! The History Professor is a ghost and the worst pedagog ever, but no one is going to do anything about it because if there was anything to be done surely someone would have done it already... Examples were plentiful.  
Before learning of the Wizarding World, she had believed that people were generally apathetic and too lazy to work on improving their community. But damn, compared to British wizards, most Muggle were activists!  
Their government was the testimony of how conservative and arthritic the wizarding community was in Great Britain. They prided themselves on being an enlightened democracy, but the only actual election they held was the one for Minister of Magic. Most seat in the Wizengamot, the most powerful instance of the government, were inherited. Those which became free because a line had ended were filled by co-optation. To make things worse, the Wizengamot held both the legislature and the judiciary powers, as well as sharing the executive with the Minister. The consequence was that anyone with enough influence and money to sway the Wizengamot assembly one way or another had almost complete control over the country. It was a terrible mess.

While she had been ruminating her exasperation, she had reached the end of the Floggerworm bucket. Her schoolmates had also moved on to another ingredient. She went to fetch the jar with the leftover fangs and a mortar and pestle on Harry's desk and had to duck as a scarab shell flew her direction.

"No, no, gently! You have to insert the blade _gently_ under the carapace."

"Easier said than done!"

Both boys looked quite frustrated. Looking at the pile of mushed insects, Hermione could certainly commiserate with them, lifting the shell off the scarabs' back was a pain.  
She set up her workbench for grinding the fangs, keeping an eye on how Malfoy was dealing with her housemate's difficulties. He had seized Harry's hand and was trying to get him to get a feel of the movement. It was remarkable how fast Harry and Malfoy had gotten comfortable around each other. She knew her friend tended to shy away from physical contact, despite craving the affection. Even before the Dursleys' trial, she had had strong suspicions that his home life was catastrophic. He never spoke about it, but it was obvious, from the flinch when someone caught his shoulder to the way he would gulp down food at the Welcoming Feast, to the bars that had been on his window when he had needed rescuing between their First and Second Years. For God's sake, there mere fact that he had to be _rescued_ from his family spoke for itself.  
But just as it was obvious that Harry was being mistreated by his family, it was obvious that Professor Dumbledore knew about it and wouldn't do a thing. At that time, she had thought that he _could_  not act against it, because of some ancient and deeply rooted laws of the Wizarding World, so she had kept quiet and done her best to be there for her friend. Hermione was not a person of regret, she much preferred moving forward and learning from her mistakes, but if she had to name one thing she regretted, it would be not going to her parents about Harry. Despite being Muggles and looked down at by most wizards and witches, they probably would have been able to contact Social Services, either Muggle and Magical. Anyway, there was no use crying over spilt milk, what mattered was supporting her friend now that she knew!

"You're not wearing any ring."

Malfoy's quiet statement drew Hermione's attention back to the boys. The blond teenager was frowning at the hand he was holding, as if there was wrong with it. Harry's eyes were going back and forth between his hand and his schoolmate's face, trying to understand how it mattered.

"No, I mean, why would I?"

The Slytherin whipped his head up to stare at Harry. Hermione wasn't sure what to do, but he did not look threatening, only very startled, so it would probably break the truth they seemed to have if she intervened, by, say, stunning Malfoy.  
Plus, she was curious about his strange comment too. Was there some Pureblood jewellery tradition that she did no know about? But Ron and Neville didn't wear any ring either, so it probably wasn't...

"Please tell me you are having me on..."

"I really have no idea what you are talking about, Draco! I mean, I'm not wearing a ring, what's the big deal, neither are you..."

The situation was obviously starting to make Harry uncomfortable as he stepped back and slightly away from their classmate. Said classmate didn't seem to get the hint as he followed the Gryffindor and grabbed his hand again, this time to settle it on his own right middle finger.

"But I am. I really can't believe you don't know about them..."

The shocked Slytherin backed up and slumped down on a stool. If she tried to tell anyone she had seen a Malfoy act so inelegantly, they probably would call her mad.  
Before either Harry or Hermione had had time to question his sanity, because Malfoy's hands were very obviously ringless, he passed his left hand over his right one while mumbling something under his breath. A shimmer danced over the base of his index, revealing an elegant signet ring. He waved them closer so they could take a look at it.

The band was made of a metal Hermione had never encountered before. It was a silver colour, but the tint was shinier, purer... It was easy to see the difference as encrusted silver snakes framed a family emblem on the top of the band, contrasting with the whiter material. The crest itself was a liberal artistic version of the Malfoy crest. Instead of the symmetrical black and silver emblem and the illuminated M guarded by spears and dragons, a single obsidian dragon was loved around a curved silver M. The ensemble was astonishingly beautiful.

"This is my heirloom ring. It is not usually shown to anyone outside of family, but I guess you wouldn't have believed me if I had only told you that I was wearing a ring, so... Rings like this," he said pointing down to the band, "are worn by all children of Pureblood families from the day they are born to the moment they either receive the Lordship ring or are disowned. They are imbued in strong protective magic, are the key to family-specific wards and can most often act as a Portkey in emergency situations. As they are usually never taken off and they grow with the child, they are somehow considered a mere extension of the body. None of us Pureblood thinks about it, the rings just are... Which I guess is why it came to me as such a shock that you are not wearing any. And also why I did not realise it during our last tutoring session, even though I should have noticed its absence on your finger..."

This was fascinating. Her Pureblood friends were all from families that did not follow wizarding traditions anymore, at least not openly. Despite how many books she read on the subject, some knowledge was only transmitted orally and so she remained ignorant of huge sections of wizarding culture. She wanted to ask Malfoy so many questions! However, Harry beat her to it.

"Still, why would it matter? It's not like I'm a Pureblood, and even if I was, there's no way my Muggle relatives would have let me keep a magic ring..."

Malfoy shook his head. With a swish of his wand, he brought two stools closer and signalled for them to sit.

"You don't understand... It's probably best if I start from the basics, as I realise that you are completely unaware of Pureblood traditions, so please bear with me. Granger, I imagine that you want to hear this, even if it does not affect you personally?

Of course she did! She nodded her head enthusiastically.

"Ok. Then, you first need to understand that your status and the status of your family are two different things. I will do my best to explain this in terms as neutral as I can, considering our...divergences of opinion on some of these subjects.  
As the son of a Muggle-born and a Pureblood, you are a Half-blood. On the other hand, as the heir to the Lord of a Pureblood family, you belong to that family. When you will be of age, you will be able to claim Lordship of the Potter. If you have children with someone from another Pureblood family, no matter their personal blood status, your descendants will be considered as Pureblood. I know that this is quite hypocritical, but really, if we had truly been procreating only with literally pure-blooded wizards and witches, Pureblood families would have been extinct a long time ago. Of course, it is still considered unacceptable for a Pureblood to marry a Muggle, and outrageous to bond with a Muggle-born, but second- or more generation Half-Bloods are tolerated, especially if they are wealthy or magically talented.  
Rules deciding which family a child belongs to are rather finicky, but in most cases, you can trust their surname. In your case, I am absolutely sure that you belong to the Potter family because you are registered as their heir -Lord pending your coming of age. Which means that your parents would have had an heirloom ring made for you before you were even born."

"Maybe they did, and Dumbledore took it off before leaving me at the Dursleys? I can't imagine them reacting too well to a self-adjusting ring on the finger of their toddler nephew..."

"They wouldn't have known. In addition to the glamour that keeps the rings hidden unless their wearer unveils it, they have mild Muggle-repellent charms woven in them. Even with our limited interactions with Muggles, it wouldn't do to be unable to shake hand with one of them... Goblins make the rings and one cannot say that they are not thorough. Anyway, there is no way Dumbledore could have removed your ring, it can only be done by another member of the family. Else, it would be too easy to hurt their wearers."

"If they are so powerful, how come anyone from a Pureblood family can ever get hurt?"

"Well, most of the protective charms wear off with the years. They get eroded by the wearer's magic. The ones on mine only take off the edge of most hexes nowadays."

"Then why keep it? Or why not get it loaded back at Gringotts, I imagine that must be possible..."

"I guess so, but it's not usually done. Adults tend to prefer more specific charms, rather than all-encompassing protection that might impede their everyday life. As for keeping it when it's not so efficient anymore? Habit, and the reassuring symbol of belonging. I know that I will have to take it off someday, but I will only be replacing it with the Malfoy Lordship ring."

Harry shrugged his shoulders. It seemed like the adrenaline from Malfoy's strange reaction had worn off and he was once again sluggish and unconcerned.

"Then I guess it doesn't matter so much if I don't have any... It wouldn't be so useful anymore anyways."

"It is not so much the fact that you are without its protection but more that it is abnormal for you not to have any! Would you mind if I looked into it? There might be documented cases of children unable to wear their heir ring for one reason or another."

Harry only mumbled in response, already pushing his stool back to his worktable and the matter behind him. Of course, Hermione wasn't so easily satisfied, she could not resist a good mystery, and this was a golden opportunity to learn more about Pureblood customs. However, she did not dare ask Malfoy to include her in his research, for he would probably take it as an occasion to lord his magical ancestry over her the moment they were outside of Harry's earshot.

Instead, she pointed out the similarity between heir rings and the description Dumbledore had given of the protection bracelet he had forced on Harry. Both were supposed to be imbued in protection charms and to act as a Portkey in emergency cases. They could also only be removed by the one who had put it there. As she compared the two, she realised at Malfoy's thoughtful glance at the bracelet that she had made a gaffe. Harry seemed so at ease with his former enemy, she had overlooked the fact that her friend probably wasn't updating the Slytherin with the ins and outs of Dumbledore's manipulations. She tried to backtrack but the exasperated look Malfoy threw her way made it obvious that he was not fooled in the least.  
However, instead of demanding information, Malfoy simply rolled his eyes and threw a disinterested comment on her apparent inability to keep secrets. She frowned but, inside, she knew that she had deserved it. Luckily for her, Harry seemed unfazed by her blunder, he was back to glowering half-heartedly at his mauled scarab. It was maybe better to keep silent then, to avoid further indiscretions. Following her friend's lead, Hermione settled back into her ingredient preparation. Surprisingly, Malfoy seemed to take the hint moved over to Harry to explain again how to best relieve the dead insects from the shell.  
Or maybe it wasn't so surprising, considering he hadn't jumped to the occasion to extort information from her in the first place. Hermione decided she probably would have to seriously reconsider what she thought she knew of the Slytherin's character.

**********

Tuesday, 8 October 1996, 11 pm  
Sixth Year Dormitories, Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts

Duelling tutoring with Moody had been hell. If it could even be called tutoring... After all, Mad-Eye had not done much more than casting stinging and mild cutting hexes at him without explaining anything. When Harry had complained that the pain from the multiple minors burns and gashes was distracting him, the crazy Auror had simply barked that by the time they would be done, Harry would be able to duel even missing a limb or two. How reassuring...

Harry had not even been allowed his wand for this session. He had only been instructed to dodge Moody's spells. And dodged he had tried, but for the success he had had, he could have stayed put and not be any worse for wear. Really, how was he supposed to dodge a fully trained Auror's hexes, not to mention a rather seasoned one, in a bare room? Did they expect him to develop some supernatural speed or something?

Ron had sent him a part-worried, part-apologetic look when he had shuffled his way back into the Common Room, but Hermione had thankfully stopped him from following Harry up to the dorms. The battered Gryffindor wanted nothing more than a shower and to collapse in bed: he wasn't up to acting okay for his well-meaning but definitively awkward friend's sake.  
Hermione had taken Harry and Ron's apparent reconciliation in stride, only muttering something that sounded suspiciously like _Too bloody nice for his own good_ under her breath. She for one had not forgiven Ron for his insensitive actions and it seemed like she had decided to run interference any time the redhead said or did something stupid again. Ron was a bit slow on the uptake on this one: he had tried to bring Quidditch and the House team several times into the discussion at lunch, not taking the hint when Hermione rudely interrupted him every time.

Harry winced as the hot water hit his shoulders. His skin was littered with small abrasions, nothing concerning, just one thousand near-painful spots all over his body. He carefully applied soap on it, not wanting to irritate the lesions further. Before, he would have gone to the Hospital Wing to have them treated. However, after the fiasco with Umbridge and the realisation that Madam Pomfrey _should_ have acted to remove him from his abusive relatives' home, he would settle on asking Hermione for advice. She would probably know something that could help, and if they needed to, they might be able to brew it as an exercise for Potions tutoring. Draco probably wouldn't even ask any questions. He was, Harry had discovered, mindful like that. He never commented when Harry looked -and felt- like death warmed over, never even teased Harry for fumbling his way through First Year tasks. And, as promised, he hadn't made any jibe at Hermione's lineage. Now that Harry thought about it, he didn't even look put out by her presence as he would have been before. Probably, the Pureblood nonsense he had been spouting until now was due to his father's pressure, maybe he did not really believe it himself. Harry hoped so, because it would be quite difficult to stay friend with someone who truly thought themselves superior to whoever was born with the wrong parents.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry crashed down on his bed. From the corner of his eye, he caught Neville throwing him a commiserating glance, but he didn't care. He was knackered. Not the foggy, gloomy tiredness that plagued him on and off since Sirius's... Anyway, it was different, more like the good kind of fatigue he felt after a gruesome Quidditch practice or a trying DA session. Damn Moody! And Dumbledore and his schemes.  
As he drifted off to sleep, laying across his bed over the covers, Harry's last thought was that at least, maybe he would sleep the sleep of the death and not be woken up every hour by nightmares this day.

**********

Wednesday, 9 October 1996, 7 pm  
Professor Snape's Office, Dungeons, Hogwarts

"Once again, Potter, it appears that you are to receive preferential treatment. However, I am not inclined to pamper to your illusions of grandeur anymore, neither do I have time for students that have no wish to learn. Mrs Dumbledore and Scrimgeour have seen it fit to inflict your presence on me every other evening, which is why you will spend this time here, in this room, with me present. I have brought your last Potions essay, if such an inane drivel may be called an essay. I have accidentally spilt putrid leech bile on it. Copy it and please do endeavour to make it legible this time. I usually do not allow any of my students to modify their work after the deadline, it would not be fair to their fellow unintelligent classmates, but I believe that your brain, Potter, is so hermetic to the subtle art of potion making that I could have you copy a page of the First Year book a dozen times and you still would not be able to spell the name of the described brew. Therefore, you will occupy your time here exercising your penmanship. In silence."

In Snape's outstretched hand, Harry's last Potions essay resembled the artwork of a two-year-old trying to represent dying moss on a piece of used toilet paper. The teenager was quite sure that the scroll did not have so many shades of yellow, green and brown when he had handed it over. Nor was it stinking so disgustingly, worse than the long-dead rat he had had to clean up from the attic once -the decomposition smell pervading the first floor through the old wooden door had alerted his aunt Petunia that something was off and a younger Harry had been missioned to investigate and solve the problem.

Harry _really_ didn't want to touch the sickening thing, but Snape was glaring at him and he was afraid of what the malicious Potion Master might do if he refused to comply. Gingerly, he seized the parchment and immediately set in down on the desk the Professor was pointing to. Still partly unable to believe his luck -he had been dreading a repeat of the previous year disastrous Occlumency lessons, he sat down and pulled his writing material out of his bag under watchful eyes. Apparently satisfied that his burden was not going to baulk at the task, Snape turned sharply on his heels, his robes billowing around him, and strode to his desk where he started marking essays.

Three hours later, Snape had ravaged three classes' worth of homework with red ink and what were probably humiliating comments and Harry was stuck massaging his wrist, cramping up in the middle of his fifth rewrite. He had gotten rid of the original work as soon as possible, incinerating the near-biological hazard, after having copied the text on the fresh parchment. When he had opened his mouth to ask what he was supposed to do now that he was done, the Potion Master had glared at him so fiercely Harry had instinctively shrunk on his stool. He had hurriedly grabbed a new scroll and started the copy all over again. It was certainly much better than being set to gut slimes or whatever disgusting and degrading work his professor would put him to if he complained about being idle.  
Now though, he was thoroughly fed up with the work and his whole right arm was smarting. Whenever he tried to grab his quill to start writing again, his hand spasmed and he splattered ink all over the place. It was quite strange, though, because it was not so different from writing lines, and God knew that he had written his fair share of them over the years. He never had a cramping problem before, and Umbridge's torture by blood quill did not qualify as normal line-writing.

Finally, the Professor released him, after having selected the cleanest version of the essay and sneering at the pitiful fifth attempt Harry had been having a hassling with. He had also commented that the Gryffindor might want to bring his homework to him the next time unless he wanted to be counting the floor tiles. Typical gratuitous remark...

**********

Sunday, 13 October 1996, 4 pm  
Room of Requirement, Hogwarts

"Come on Draco! You can do better than that!"

"Oh, easy for you to say, supervising the work from your squashy throne!"

"Join my sessions with Mad-Eye and you'll deserve a nice seat too!"

The boys were teasing back and forth like old friends. Malfoy... Draco was shooting basic hexes at a target, alternating the power of his casts, while Harry was coaching him from a bean bag the Room had provided.  
Considering how unsettled his magic had been the previous day after his third 'training' with Moody, Hermione and Draco had agreed -and wasn't it so astonishing?- that it was better if he let it rest for a day. Hermione had, of course, offered her help as a duelling partner for Draco, but Harry had argued that it was not needed as he had planned some target practice for this session. The witch was quite impressed by the skill with which Harry was advising Draco. He had already been a passionate instructor and a rather good pedagog when they had had the DA, but he had lacked confidence and maybe some theoretical knowledge. It seemed that confidence was not a problem here, and they had all studied pretty hard for the OWLs to make up for Umbridge's abysmal teaching.

Hermione sat on another bean bag next to Harry, simultaneously working on her Transfiguration homework and taking a few notes on Harry's teaching methods and Draco's reactions and progress. She was worried. She had thought Harry was doing slightly better since the beginning of the month: he still looked pale, always tired, but his mood was not as erratic and he said his thoughts were clearer and considerably less dark than at the beginning of the school year. Dobby had even stopped staying to check Harry ate whenever he popped up to bring his human friend a snack. But this week the backsliding had been terrible. He came back from his additional classes battered and uncommunicative. Sometimes, in classes, he had trouble focussing his magic during practicals. The teachers had become so used to his poor performances this year that they had not even noticed, though it was obvious for someone who had been practising with him since First Year. Hermione wondered if it was still effects of the Dreamless potion withdrawal or magical manifestations of the fragile psychological Harry was in at the moment. Though it might also be linked with the bracelet Dumbledore had forced on him, or maybe whatever Moody and Professor Snape were doing to him.  
Harry had reported, a bit bewildered, that the Potion Master had not given him any Occlumency tutoring but had had him do homework instead. Ron had, of course, jumped to the occasion to badmouth the professor, but their Muggle-Born friend had been silently relieved for Harry. He could use any kind of respite, really. However, she would not put it past the dour Potion Professor to be acting this way to further either Dumbledore's or Voldemort's agenda. Was it possible that he was using this time to cast a multiple-layers curse on Harry? She would have to warn her friend to watch out for suspicious behaviour when he went down to the Potions office...

How was it that the Golden Boy of Gryffindor and the Ice Prince of Slytherin were so comfortable with each other, after half-a-dozen years of school-yard animosity? Harry had changed this summer, the stuck-up aristocrat might have as well, but she still couldn't believe it would be enough for them to form a friendship so fast. Unless something had happened during one of those tutoring sessions before they had joined them. But what could Harry and Malfoy have shared that so completely shifted the way they interacted with each other? If she had to be honest with herself, she had to admit that she was a bit jealous of the newfound companionship the two shared. Not that she resented Harry for opening up to other people, but she felt a bit like an outsider sometimes when they met. Of course, that was who she was, an outsider observing their tutoring sessions, but still. She had always been a quieter, more subtle presence by Harry's size compared to Ron, who proudly claimed the position of _best mate_ , and it stung that now that the insensitive git was out of the picture, she was not able to occupy this position. Guilt welled up as she realised what she was thinking: she was not this petty person resenting not being first for everyone! Expect, she didn't want to be first for _everyone_. Just for one person. Her best friend. Her first real friend too, as she was well aware that Ron had only put up with her at first because he felt responsible for the troll episode. She wanted to feel secure in the knowledge that she was loved and needed. It was unfair to ask this of Harry, of course, or even to expect it of him. There was no reason why he should have to deal with her insecurities. Still. She knew what she wished for, and she knew that she could not will that wish away...

**********

Thursday, 17 October 1996, 11 am  
Hospital Wing, Hogwarts

"Stop being a jerk, Ron! Malfoy did _not_ curse Harry! You heard Madam Pomfrey, it's magical exhaustion."

"But you just admitted that you had no idea what he could have done to use all of his magic like that! I say there's foul play involved, and the ferret has both the motivation and the opportunities to mess up with Harry..."

"Even if that was true, he is not the only one. Won't you give it a rest? He's been perfectly civil lately, not acting prejudiced or anything, though I can't say as much of you!"

The furious wispers next to his head went up a notch.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, Ronald Weasley, that this war was started and perpetuated by instransigant and biased people like you!"

Ouch, Hermione had obvioulsy still not forgiven Ron.  
The sound of a chair being brutally pushed bashed, stomping steps and the slam of a door. Harry opened his eyes wearily.

"Oh, Harry, I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up. How are you feeling?"

"Fine. So, Ron's still convinced that Draco's up to something?"

Hermione sighed heavily and stood to help him sit up against the headboard. They were alone in the white Hospital Wing, Ron having obviously left to sulk somewhere.

"Yes. I know he hasn't said anything more to you, but he still cannot believe that Draco might not have some nefarious goal in befriending you, and is determined to watch out and _be there for you_ when Malfoy decides to put his plan in action. Anyway, don't let him bother you. Either he gets his head out of the sand or he doesn't... Madam Pomfrey said it was magical exhaustion again. She gave you a core fortifiant this time, I'm supposed to make sure you don't use any magic in the next four hours. She had to leave, Hagrid called her for one of his beasts. Really, I can't think of any medical stuff anywhere that's less concerned with her patients than her! It's a farce how sometimes she's frantic about keeping people in her care for far longer than necessary while others she just doesn't give a care in the world!"

Harry had to cut her short before she launched into one of her favorite tirades of the moment, the inconsistency of the care provided by the school matron. While it was true that she was having a peculiar hands-off approach to his lastest condition, the teenager had more present issues to deal with.

"So I guess I fainted?"

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry, of course you wouldn't remember. We were practicing the bird conjuration and you were getting frustrated because you couldn't get anything to appear. I think you tried to push all of your magic through your wand. You turned white as a ghost and Ron barely had time to grab you before you collapsed. Sent Lavender and Pavarti in right fits..."

Hermione's eyes-roll when she said this brought a smile to his face. Since he had started having trouble with the power of his magic two weeks ago, the two Gryffindor girls had taken to fawning over Harry whenever spell practice sent him in a dizy fit.


	14. The hideout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not keeping my promise of posting a chapter for every 10k words during NaNoWriMo... I got a new job and slightly underestimated the workload.  
> I wrote 15k words in November, so I'm still pretty happy with myself :)  
> Once again, this chapter has not been betaed, I hope it's not too full of typos.

Friday, 18 October 1996, Mid-morning  
Harry Potter's mindscape

"Azraël!"

"Harry. How are you, child?"

Young Harry's delight at his presence was pleasant, even if it was just a dream construct. Though he would never admit it to anyone, Lord Voldemort enjoyed the fact that part of his fated enemy's subconscious adored him so. It counterbalanced the annoyance at being once again torn from his body and caged into the teenager's nightmares. Especially when he had not expected it: wasn't the brat supposed to be in class in that time? What kind of student fell asleep during class, really? Unless the one teaching was the Binn ghost, in that case the Dark Lord guessed it might be forgivable.

"I got in trouble at school 'cause Dudley threw my lunchbox in the toilet... Uncle Vernon was really mad, he said I'd not go out my cupboard 'till Monday."

"Idiots, the lot of them! Do you remember what I told you?"

The tall wizard squatted in front of the child, holding his chin up with a finger to force Harry to look at him in the eyes. Though the violent nature of those specific dreams from Potter's childhood had far diminished since the Dark Lord had taken to getting rid of the abusive Muggles any times their incarnations appeared, the episodes still qualified as nightmares, with young Harry and his friend Azraël battling time and time again against insecurities and self-hatred.

"I'm not a freak. And they're wrong and evil."

"And...?"

"And they're just jealous 'cause I can do magic and they can't."

Voldemort nearly growled at the tears pooling in the youthful wizard's eyes, the sure sign that they would soon cascade down his cheeks and he would have his hands full of a six-year-old's desperate sobs. That age was the one he found the most troublesome to interact with out of the various subconscious personas of his rival. As he awkwardly tried to comfort Harry -knowing very well that the moment he succeeded the nightmares would shift to a new scene- he wondered what would be next. The sweet and cheerful innocence of toddler-Harry, a quite infrequent manifestation, always short but full of laughter, the only one more dreamlike than nightmarish? The dark, angsty teenager grieving for his Godfather? The terrified warrior confronted times and times again to a mixture of Death Eaters, Dark Lords and Dementors? Or maybe his favourite, a pre-teen wizard in awe of all things magic and struggling to cope with his family's hatred and the overwhelming expectations of the Wizarding World. That Harry was aware of the existence of Lord Voldemort but had not truly encountered him yet, and the Dark Lord had felt safe assuming his Azraël persona with him. They battled back to back against the youngster's demons, and, when the fighting died down, carried passionate conversations on the relations between the Muggle and the Wizarding Worlds. Surreal happenings, those, when Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter debated the inclusion of Muggleborns as witches and wizards, sat in a projection of a dark cupboard or of Salazar Slytherin's Chamber in Potter's mindscape.

But he would never know where Potter's gloomy mindset would have taken him next, for a strong voice, one he knew very well, erupted in cottoned quiet of the dream cupboard. The walls and ground shuddered, probably from some effort to joggle the host away and abruptly, the Dark Lord was wrenched away from young Harry and deposited back in his body.

"Potter!"

* * *

Friday, 18 October 1996, Mid-morning  
Potions Classroom, Dungeons, Hogwarts

"Potter!"

Harry started awake, already scrambling for his wand.

"What, pray tell, gave you the impression that my class was an adequate setting to take a nap?"

His heart was beating wildly in his chest, his right hand tensed on his wand, his eyes assessing the situation by reflex... But no, it was plain as day, the only threat around was Snape, and he had fallen asleep during Potions. Harry took a deep breath, trying to do away with the confusion of his abrupt awakening. He started to apologise profusely but there was, of course, no way Snape was going to overlook his blunder.

"I do not care for your piteous justifications, Potter! Detention on Sunday. You will serve it with Mr Filch, as I am already devoting enough time to your irritating self as is it. Report to him after breakfast."

Sunday. Sunday was the only day he had left to do his homework and relax a bit, and the greasy git knew it! Harry nearly jumped up in outrage, containing himself only thanks to Draco's jabbing his finger in his tight. Right, it would probably only make things worse to complain anyway... Instead, he clenched his jaw and extended his hand toward a bowl of berries he remembered being supposed to deseed. How could he have been so stupid as to doze off in Potions! There was no way he'd be able to find the time for his tutoring sessions with Draco now. Which meant he would not be able to spend any time with his new friend anymore, as it would not be socially acceptable for them to meet outside of school matters. In his frustration, Harry squished the berries he had in hand and the blueish juice of the fruits splattered all over his textbook. His resulting groan caught Draco's attention and the Slytherin looked like he was going to say something, but Snape was back hovering in front of their table, glaring at them as if he wanted nothing more than to cut them up for potion ingredients, so his teammate only handed Harry the cleanup rag with a sympathetic look.

* * *

Friday, 18 October 1996, 7 pm  
Great Hall, Hogwarts

Dinner found Harry complaining tiredly to his housemates about the sheer quantity of homework the teachers were piling up on them, the unreliability of his magic these days -he had had another flunking Charms period that afternoon- and the complete unfairness of the detention the Potion Professor had assigned to him. But it seemed that the day was simply meant to be a disaster from dawn to dusk, as said professor had additional bad news to convey when the worn-out teenager finally slumped down on his stool in the dungeons for his Occlumency-lessons-turned-study-hall.

"Potter. I believe it would benefit you to be aware of the latest instructions Mr Dumbledore have conveyed to Professor Moody and I regarding you. We have been directed to ensure you do not spend more time than strictly necessary in the company of individuals liable to support the Dark Lord."

Harry stared dumbly at the placid man. Individual liable to support Voldemort... That meant Draco, didn't it? So Snape meant they had been ordered to stop him from meeting with his Slytherin friend. The intention was not surprising, it was more the fact that Dumbledore _still_ had that kind of power over his life, despite his public condemnation and the interdiction to set foot on Hogwarts grounds. Though the meeting with the Minister and the workers from social services had shown how real that last part was. Apparently, Snape had taken his stricken silence for incomprehension, for he sneered and brought his wand hand up to pinch his nose.

"You are an idiot, Potter. Let me state it in simpler terms. Do not seek Mr Malfoy again outside of class. If you do, you will find every minute of your life scheduled, and he might find himself in a delicate situation. In trouble, to put it in words that mush you call a brain is able to process."

A strong wish to answer Snape with a shrug and a _Yeah, whatever_ went through Harry. There was no way he was letting them control who he picked as his friends. He suspected the Potion Master did not care one way or another anyway. But the man probably had to report to the head of the Order, so Harry swallowed the whim and nodded obediently. He'd have to catch Draco and explain, and with Hermione, they'd probably find a solution. Maybe the Room of Requirements, but they'd have to find some excuse to explain their simultaneous absence if anyone thought to check. What a mess...

Sighing, the Gryffindor teenager took his Herbology work out of his bag. Considering he could not work on the Arctic Moonborn Lace for his semester project, Professor Sprout had had to find him another task. She had given him five seeds from unknown species -though he believed she actually knew what they were and was only pretending- and he was to attempt to grow them and document the process of their identification. One had never sprouted, and two others had died soon after they had emerged from the soil, though one of those he had been able to name thanks to the very peculiar shape of its decagonal stem. He took care of the last two-three times a week, with Neville sometimes giving him a hand if he was working on his own projects in the greenhouse, and they were growing steadily, but he was at a loss when it came to identifying them. That was what he had planned to work on tonight, but he was now feeling restless and could not concentrate. He had this feeling in his chest as if a bubble was on the verge of both implosion and explosion at the same time. It got worse anytime his thoughts wandered to Dumbledore and his manipulations. Damn the man! Could he not just leave him alone? Harry was starting to think the old wizard was seriously unhinged. After all, who believed that an underfed teenager could defeat a Dark Lord that had vanquished even Death, just because said teenager had had a draught of unexplainable luck before he could even speak? Well, most of the Wizarding World, that was who, but most of them did not act out to make his life miserable for the Greater Good. They probably just did it because they were afraid for their lives and too lazy to do anything about it. Harry was not sure it was actually better, but that was not the point! Dumbledore was out of bounds and Harry was really, really angry at him! He could feel his magic rumble and swirl in his veins, eager to fly and rip his foes apart. It was scary and exhilarating both, the idea that he could let loose all this power and utterly annihilate the old Headmaster, and Voldemort, the Death Eaters, Fudge and Umbridge, the Dursleys while he was at it, anyone that had wronged him in some way... The magical essence was pleading, begging him to get up, open his hands, let it flow... And then, as fast as the heady feeling had invaded him, it vanished into thin air, leaving him hollow, depleted, slumped down on his desk. His skin was prickling uncomfortably as if he was slightly sunburned over his entire body. Apart from that, the entire episode had apparently had no consequences and had gone entirely unnoticed by Snape, who was still conscientiously bestowing snide remarks upon his pupils' essays. A bit anticlimactic, this... He was sleepy now. It would be a terrible idea to let himself drift away though, after the episode from Potion class. So he tried to apply himself to his most recent problem, meeting with Draco without the barmy Headmaster or anyone else meddling. After some reflexion, he came to the conclusion that the main issue was to find some place no one would think to come looking for them in. If Hermione, Draco and he disappeared at the same time, their respective friends would not realise it, because they would never go ask the others' housemates their whereabouts. And if Moody tried to find them -because Harry was pretty sure Snape would not bother- they would just have to invent some reason for why they could not be located. This ruled out the Room of Requirements, as too many people knew of it. Actually, it ruled out anywhere that appeared on the Marauders' Map. Mad-Eye knew about his father's heirloom and would not hesitate to ask Ron to check it if it came to his attention that Harry was regularly vanishing from his normal haunts. However, if Harry kept it with him at all times, then there was no way Ron could use it to locate them. He would need a pretty good excuse for that though. Ron was due to get curious and Harry could not be sure he would not bust them if he knew Harry was meeting Draco in secret. Anyway, Moody would probably confiscate the map on the first occasion, so it was better to find someplace it did not show. Expect it was easier said than done! Unless the Slytherins knew of some special hideout that the Marauders had not cartographied, they would need to get off the school grounds. The Shrieking Shack, maybe? Did Moody know about it? Harry wasn't sure. He would ask Hermione if she could remember anything about that.

This "lesson" just seemed to last forever. Harry had been going round and round in his head on the topics of finding a safe place to meet up with Draco, of his missing Heir ring and the probably cursed bracelet Dumbledore had forced on him, of Ron's clumsy efforts to support him, of Snape's apparent reluctance to follow his previous boss's orders, of the nightmares that kept waking him up at night now that he did not have access to the potion anymore, basically anything to try and figure out the mess that was his life. His parchment was covered in mindless doodles and he was fidgeting so much it was a wonder his Potions professor had not snapped at him to settle down. Finally, Snape dismissed him and Harry hurried up to the Gryffindor Tower to get Hermione's opinion on his various ideas. And to complain about Dumbledore's interference, probably.

* * *

Tuesday, 22nd October 1996, 3 am  
Training room, Malfoy Manor

Another dummy erupted into flame under the nimble wand of the Dark Lord. A new one immediately took its place, conjured by the room. The Dark Lord focussed his anger on the cloth mannequin and shredded it to pieces until its fabric skin could not be differentiated from its straw inside anymore. Wandlessly and wordlessly, of course. Training was serve no purpose otherwise with his augmented power levels. Most of his previous routine was still tediously easy as it was but he was not aiming for a challenging at the moment, merely the cleansing effect of the release of magic and emotions.

How did Dumbledore dare leash Potter again so soon after the very public denunciation of his treatment of the boy?! The old bigot really had no shame or remorse… His idea of the Greater Good superseded any other moral consideration. Lord Voldemort was mortified that he too had lost himself in the belief that the end justified the means no matter the consequences during the last years of the war preceding his partial death. During that time he had perceived Dumbledore and all the Light wizards as mere villains in his story, obstacles that he had to eliminate on his way. The Potter baby had been his antichrist. Now, however, his perception had changed. He understood that each individual operated according to their own values and that erasing the part of the population whose values did not align with his was neither an ethical nor a sustainable approach. it required more work and subtlety but his objectives could only be achieved by manipulating other people's value system and minimising what the majority would consider immoral. An improved Wizarding World could not come at the cost of mindless slaughter, just like a loveless child could not grow into anything else than a distant, maybe even hateful, adult. It did not mean he would not kill, or order his followers to kill, to build his ideal world. But those deaths would have to be justified and the consequences shouldered.

If the British wizards and witches were aware of how different he was from the depraved monster that had spread terror everywhere sixteen years ago, they probably would not be so keen to bow to Dumbledore's outrageous demands. For what recognition this summer's judgement was getting, they could have just as well given Dumbledore guardian rights over Potter. The Dark Lord could not even pretend to be surprised. Fear turned many into spineless sycophants, ready to sell their soul for whoever stepped forward as a protector. Since his rebirth had been revealed in the Ministry, people quivered. It was even amazing that the Office of Family Affairs had managed to hold the pretence of impartiality during their sham of the trial for so long. As long as the population would live in terror of _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_ Dumbledore would be able to string them along like puppets.

But Voldemort was not ready to change the public perception of him yet. There was much cover work to be done before he could claim the Ministry as his own, or rather, replace the fossilised organism with a fairer, less formalistic governmental body. And most importantly he needed to solidify the change of politics inside his own troops. Not all of his followers were fanatical blood-purity supporters and Muddle haters, but those did need to be weeded out. For the others, he was in the process of appraising their abilities, strengths and beliefs after more than twenty years of physical absence or mental unavailability.

In the meantime, he was making progress on undermining Dumbledore's support. While the general population kept hanging to his every word like mindful sheep -as long as he did not ask them to take responsibility for anything, Severus had reported dissent in the core group assembled around the manipulative Headmaster. Many challenged his treatment of the boy and some had taken to systematically questioning his decisions during meetings. Lupin, the werewolf, had refused the mission Dumbledore had tried to entrust him with. The Weasleys were rejecting anything that would involve Hogwarts or school-aged children in the war. Two Aurors were only coming to the so-called Order meetings sporadically, claiming suspicion on part of their department. If he could entice Potter, the very symbol of the Light, to his side, he could see his opposition crumbling like ice under the summer sun as soon as he revealed the new persona he was building for the public.

Soon, by the end of the school year, the Wizarding World would see a new leader join its political scene.

* * *

Sunday, 27th October 1996, 10 am  
Moaning Myrtle's Bathroom, First Floor, Hogwarts

Draco peeked inside the bathroom. Harry and Hermione did not appear to be there yet. Checking the corridor one more time, he stepped inside gingerly. If anyone caught him lurking in a girls' lavatory, even an out of order one, it would cause him no end of trouble. He was supposed to be an example to all students, after all, as a Prefect. He trusted Harry not to have set him up, but honestly, what was the Gryffindor thinking, arranging to meet in a haunted _girls'_ bathroom of all places? Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Draco swiftly hid in one of the booths, hoping the deranged ghost of the schoolgirl that was known to inhabit the room would not make an appearance just now. Luckily, she stayed away, and the footsteps quieted down as the person walked past. Draco sneered as he emerged once again from the derelict stall. The things he did for Potter!

He was lounging against a chipped sink when the door opened and closed, apparently without reason, and suddenly the two Gryffindors were there. He nearly jumped out of his skin when they appeared out of thin air in front of him. Harry had told him about his Invisibility Cloak -Draco was rather envious of it but really who could blame him- but there was a world between knowing his friend could become invisible and witnessing it.

"Draco!"

Harry's smile was tired. It was not so surprising, considering that not twelve hours before, Draco had had to help him back to his dorms, supporting him the entire way. The other teen had been lucky that Draco had chanced upon his slumped form on his Prefect rounds. He had been half asleep already and would have no doubt spent his night in the freezing corridor had not one found him. Draco resolved to have a word later with Hermione about making sure that one of them was always around when Harry finished his _training_ sessions to walk him back to Gryffindor Tower.

"Harry, Hermione. So, this is your idea of a meeting place? I must admit, I am rather disappointed with you, Harry."

His friend rolled his eyes at Draco pompous behaviour, knowing that he was only teasing as he had already explained that they would move to a secret place from there. Draco had been quite frustrated, as well as a bit hurt when Harry had refused to say more about the secret place in question, until the dark-haired teenager had explained that he was the only one able to open the door. He and Hermione had then proceeded to tease him all week with hints of a one-of-a-kind room that he especially would like. Now, he was curious. What kind of concealed door could exist in an out-of-order bathroom, that only one person could open? He did not wonder, however, why Harry Potter was that specific person. After all, even if his survival in face of the Killing Curse had not been enough, their common years of school had convinced Draco that if anything unlikely was due to happen, it would happen to the Boy-Who-Lived...

Said boy gestured to one of the sinks and the other two watched him as he bent down and hissed to the stone structure. To Draco's amazement, the basin sank into the floor, revealing a dark passageway leading down.

"Is that...?"

The Gryffindors were looking at him with amusement. Of course, they would, no matter that it was _completely_ abnormal to open a secret passage in Parseltongue in a school bathroom! Gathering himself, he stepped closer to the hole in the ground. It looked quite disgusting as if it had been covered with a slimy substance and left to gather dust. Which was probably what had happened... In any case, it was quite unbecoming, if it was, as he suspected, the entrance to Salazar Slytherin's infamous Chamber of Secrets.

"Scourify!"

Apparently, Hermione shared his opinion, because after peering down the tunnel, she had immediately cast the Cleaning spell at the pipe. Part of the dust evaporated and the slime somewhat grudgingly moved aside a bit. The girl next to him humphed in an offended manner.

"Desquamato! Skurge!"

The sludge sizzled and disappeared. Harry looked relieved.

"Oh, thanks, Hermione. Last time was pretty disgusting, and I can't cast an efficient cleaning charm to save myself..."

Draco concurred, slightly impressed.

"Yes, this was a rather inventive use of the peeling charm. I would not have thought of it myself."

With the pipe cleared, they moved on and slid down the pipe in turn.

The Chamber was remarkable. Though it was in an even worst state than the tunnel leading down to it, and its air as permeated with the stench of damp rottenness, Draco could not stop himself from gazing at the stonework in admiration. The massive bust of Salazar Slytherin, of course, caught the eyes first, as did the reptile-shaped columns, but the walls were also covered in detailed murals retracing common wizarding lore. And the Basilisk! Harry had explained the story of his second year while they were walking to the Chamber proper and Draco could not believe that Dumbledore had not asked Harry to take him down before. Not only was it worth a fortune, probably enough to found the school entirely for a century, but several of the stronger potions were nearly impossible to brew nowadays because of the shortage of Basilisk parts. Even now, with the soft tissues of the animal destroyed by the passing time, they could probably harvest several times their weights in Galleons. Not to mention Professor Snape would gladly give his right arm to have access to such a potion treasure.

The air was slowly getting cleaner thanks to a nifty spell of Hermione's. Really, no matter what his parents said, that witch was quite resourceful. They cleaned up a small area as far as possible from the huge carcass and settled down to work on their homework. Considering Harry's new schedule and the problems he encountered with his magic, the three of them had agreed to stop the tutoring and spend their Sundays together working on their assignments. The two boys had shared a humorous look when Hermione had grumbled about not being able to access the books in the library but they knew she was relieved Harry would not overwork himself. Draco had already known from their previous years that she was rather bossy -and packed a mean punch, but it had turned out she was doing it more out of worry for the people she cared about than anything else.

They stopped working for lunch. They had devised a plan to make sure no one would suspect them of spending the rest of the day together: Draco was to eat in the Great Hall with his friends while the Gryffindors joined Longbottom by the greenhouses with a picnic baskets from the kitchens. The meek teenager had agreed to cover for them and Draco had not dared comment that choice. He trusted Harry and Hermione, and if they trusted Longbottom, well... They agreed on a time to meet in the bathroom again after lunch, Harry apologising for not being able to teach him the password, despite the fact that he was not responsible for it in any way.

* * *

Sunday, 27th October 1996, 3 pm  
Chamber of Secrets, Hogwarts

Harry groaned and flopped down on the mats they had conjured, prompting a glare from Hermione. Transfiguration really did not make any sense this year. Deciding he had had enough, for now, he put his shoes back on and stood up.

"I'm just going to go have a look around."

Distracted humming answered him. Draco and Hermione were so alike for that, getting completely lost in their readings. Well, Harry was not like them, able to focus for hours on end on some dry text, and he could not practice any spells at the moment for fear of exhausting his magic even worse than it was. He did not fancy yet another trip to the Hospital Wing...

Staying well away from the dead monster snake in the middle of the chamber, Harry started to look at the murals on the walls, following them back to the entrance. He hesitated one moment but concluded that while it would probably be more interesting than the wide, empty chamber, he was too likely to get lost while exploring the pipes. Turning around, Harry set his eyes on the pillars. They were each representing a different snake, standing up on their tail, sharp stone fangs sticking out of their gaping mouths. They were probably supposed to look bloodcurdling, but once you got past the first impression they were just ridiculous, honestly. The smaller reptiles carved all around the room were much more life-like. Just for the fun of it, Harry tried to hiss to some of them. After all, the entrance to the Chamber was guarded by a snake which answered to a Parseltongue command... Those did not react, but Harry amused himself by whispering comments about the depicted histories to the figures on the walls. Most of the murals did not make much sense to him, they probably referred to events in the Founders' time or maybe some wizarding legends. He only recognised the scene with the Hydra defeated by Hercules, they had studied a Muggle version of it in primary school. He was now at the bottom of Slytherin's statue. How full of yourself did you have to be to build a secret room with a gigantic sculpture of yourself in a high school? Continuing his Parseltongue monologue, Harry voiced his thought to the stone figure. He jumped badly when an aggressive hiss answered him.

"You dare criticise the Speaker?"

Harry quickly search the statue and surrounding walls for the origin of the sounds. His eyes ended on the moving depiction of a raised cobra, stuck on the narrow rock surface between the legs of Salazar Slytherin and the back of the room. Embarrassed, Harry tried to sweet talk his way out of the conflict.

"Of course, not, I was just wondering. I mean, Slytherin was a great wizard, so he clearly had a reason for it... A good reason, right?"

The cobra hissed again, this time not words but just a suspicious breath. Its stance and sinuous movements showed it was still poised for attack. Harry was almost certain the snake would not be able to dissociate from the wall to jump at him. Almost, because this was the Wizarding World after all, and he was currently having an intelligent conversation with said stone-snake. What's more, even if he was not dangerous, maybe he did have some information on the Chamber.

"Do you know anything about it? I mean, it's obvious it's home to the Basilisk, but a Basilisk wouldn't really need a statue or the decoration..."

The cobra stilled.

"Basilisk. You know of Magdalena?"

Some emotion bled from his question. Sadly, Harry had not been able to have enough conversation with snakes that he was able to recognise their feelings from the way they spoke. Except when they were trying to kill him, of course, that one was pretty clear. However, somehow, he was not sure it would go down too well if he admitted to having killed the gigantic monster.

"Hum, yes, if that's the name of the Basilisk living here. Or, I mean, that lived here. It's dead."

"Dead?"

"Yes. Actually, the body's over there, on the other side of the statue. I guess you can't see it."

"And you killed her?"

Damn it, the snake really was not giving him any hint as to whether the Basilisk -Magdalena-'s demise was good news... Should he own up to it or would that finish to convince the inquisitive snake he was no good? And if he claimed innocent, how was he going to justify his knowledge? With all due respect to Umbridge -which was not much- he did not make a habit of lying. Unless his relatives were somehow involved, he was even rather bad at it, hence the numerous hours he had spent in detention during his time in Hogwarts.

"I did. The ghost of a student was controlling it and it was trying to eat me. It wouldn't be reasoned with so we fought and I got lucky..."

Waiting for the verdict, the teenager was a bit bewildered when the reptile's mineral body shook in what appeared to be glee. The hiccuping buzz coming from it was somewhat disturbing.

"Sh...ash...shu... Slain by a mere boy, such a fitting end for her. How she kept lording over us for sssss-centuries because she was made of flesh and we were not! But flesh rots and we do not. She prattled, sh...shu...usha, on and on about how a new master would come release her from our underground prison, after that pompous child that used to visit vanished. A fitting end indeed!"

Well... Apparently, his interlocutor had not been too fond of the Basilisk.

"Father will want to know about this! Follow."

Not giving Harry any time to protest or enquire about this _Father_ person, the cobra started to slither its way up the wall. It stopped next to the head of the statue and waited impatiently for the human. Harry cast a glance at his two friends, who were still engrossed in their studies. After a moment of consideration, he grabbed the ridges in the rock and started pulling himself up the sculpture. Despite being fervently loyal to Gryffindor House, he could not help feeling uncomfortable, maybe even shameful, climbing all over Salazar Slytherin like that. Or maybe it was just the fact that his few school trips to the museum had deeply engraved the idea that artwork was _not_ for fooling around with him.

When he reached the shoulder, his guide started moving up again. Harry was beginning to feel slightly weak but he was not dizzy yet, so he soldiered on and used the hollow of the ear to push himself upward, on the head of the statue. The cobra was nowhere to be seen. He was going to climb down, grumbling about stupid snakey humour, when he heard the distinctive tone of the rock reptile coming from the wall behind the top of the head, just a meter away from him.

"What are you waiting for, human?"

Harry looked around, but the wall was definitively bare in this place.

"Where are you?"

"In the wall, where do you think I am? Weak-minded children, nowadays, really, cannot figure out an illusion..."

Sensing Harry's confusion, he grudgingly added:

"Step through the wall, it is only a projection."

Harry eyed the section of rock doubtfully. It looked solid, but maybe it was similar to the gateway to King's Cross Platform 9 3/4. No way he was running toward it at full speed, just in case. Tentative, he brought his hand to meet the stone... except there was no stone, only air, and he felt excitement when his arm disappeared into the illusion. He stepped forward... and stopped just before passing through the fake barrier. Maybe now would be a good time to tell his schoolmates where he was going. After all, he had no true reason to trust the cobra. Who knew if it had not faked its happiness at the Basilisk's death and was leading Harry into a trap in retaliation? Prudent, he called for his friends' attention.

"Hermione, Draco, I've found something!"

Quickly, the other two teenagers joined him on the top of the sculpture. Harry explained his discussion with the stone cobra and the illusion of a wall. Hermione called for caution immediately, while Draco was nearly hysterical with enthusiasm, though he obviously tried quite hard to repress it. The boys finally managed to convince Hermione by appealing to her thirst for knowledge and they joined the impatient rock cobra on the other side of the fake wall.

 

 

 


	15. The Founder

Sunday, 27th October 1996, 4 pm  
Salazar Slytherin's study, Chamber of Secrets, Hogwarts

Life as a portrait was exceedingly dull. It was especially true when one's portraits exclusively occupied remote, forsaken locations and had for sole companions stone and wooden impersonations of snakes that, for all their lifelikeness, were irrevocably tied to the walls of their abode. One could say that he was entirely responsible for the situation. After all, he, and no one else, had spirited away the few portraits that had been painted of him. He had taken alone the decision to hide them on three sites only accessible to his posterity. One such place had been lost to fire, and with it the painting that he had stored there. His summer lodge, an Unplottable cabin in the Dark Forest, had remained untouched by human life since his death. From his position above the chimney, he could see the wild nature outside. The flow of the seasons brought distraction in his monotonous life. He avoided visiting the place too frequently, however, because if the mindless bickering of the guardian aspers engraved on the wooden beams of the ceiling. He had made those capable of speech and movement but pinned in place. They were among his first experiments in breathing intelligent life into art. The pair of reptile had turned out dreadfully competitive. He had only left them alone because they amused Godric. However, centuries had passed and their endless argument on their relative length had gone from humorous to nerve-grating. No matter how many times he had assured them, from his portrait, that they had the exact same dimensions -after all _he_ had created them- they insisted they would only admit to their defeat when they could witness it by themselves.

As a consequence, he spent the vast majority of his time in his research study attached to the Chamber of Secrets. The company was marginally more entertaining: the various enchanted reptile figures of the Chamber took turns discussing magical theory with him. They had, of course, no knowledge or opinions of their own, but he could at least _pretend_ to have an intellectual conversation with them. At one point, some decades ago, they had even been able to bring some news from the castle as a student had found the entrance to his research compound. The arrogant youngster had convinced Magdalena to do his binding and terrorise the school. The episode had been short, Merlin be blessed, for Magdalena was not known for her discriminating intelligence and would have probably decimated an entire generation of magic wielders if left to her own device. He regretted, however, that his creations had refused to bring his scion to him. The child had befriended the only one of them that could leave the room and, in their petty jealousy, they had decided that he was not worthy of meeting their progenitor. The basilisk was too massive to access his study and therefore, the child had come and gone without them meeting. After that, his animated carvings had taken to spending the vast majority of their time gossiping on the walls of his study, claiming that Magdalena was insufferable. They had finally stopped complaining about three years previous and he did not dare question them on the subject else they start again. How far had he fallen, that he would have no choice but to listen to the innate dribble of his own creations, constructs of stone and magic?

The return of Dinan interrupted his maudlin mood. The cobra had been gone for a few weeks, maybe months, apparently irritated by his fellows. Behind him followed three Hogwarts students, a sight that at once filled him with trepidation. Finally, some independent interlocutors!

The first one was a scrawny boy, his uniform in disarray and his hair chaos, obviously not a Pureblood with such disregard for his appearance. The second was not much better: her attire was in a slightly better state but she held none of the grace a proper family should have instilled in her by that age. Her eyes were roving over the bookshelves with a craving glint, a child of Rowena, no doubt, what was she doing with Godric's crest on her robes? The last visitor was probably the one which was his descendant. He held himself with the poise of nobility and sported the colours of his House on his impeccable clothes. The unnatural colour of his hair gave him away as the descendant of the Malfoy family. They had dabbled in physical modification rituals to ensure no bastard would dirty their line, and it seemed the magic had held true to this day. At least, the three of them were holding their wands out in a defensive manner. It was good to know that even if they accepted students with less than respectable origins, the school still had teaching standards.

As they stood there, looking around in the semi-darkness, Salazar cleared his throat to catch their notice. They jumped, having obviously not really expected anyone to be there. Their eyes swiped the room and narrowed in on his portrait. Before any of them could react, Dinan pushed his way on the wall across his fellow engraved snakes and stood proudly just opposite to his frame.

"Father! Those humans bear the news of Magdalena's demise!"

Cacophony erupted in the room as all the stone figures cheered and pleaded the visitors for the tale of the Basilisk's death. Salazar frowned at the noise. He did not appreciate being spoken over and he had his own questions to ask the children. Children that were clearly overwhelmed by the turmoil and were beginning to back out of the room. Salazar roared to silence his creations:

"Silence!"

The assembly of animated reptiles immediately fell quiet. Even as a painting, he still inspired a healthy reverential fright in them.

"Leave us."

The command was addressed to his creations but the authority in his voice had the teenagers squirming slightly. The stone beings slithered out of the room and back into the main chamber, one by one. Silence be blessed, it had not been so quiet in decades. Why had he not thought to order all of them out before? Maybe he would enjoy the peace for some time after the children left -for they would leave, what teenager would want the company of a decrepit portrait?- instead of allowing the animated reptiles back in.

Said children were apparently not as content with the lull as him. The pair of teenagers of imperfect ancestry fidgeted incessantly while he scrutinised them. The boy kept glancing at his comrades, as if he was searching reassurance, despite the fact that he had led them into the room. The other male, the Malfoy scion, was very obviously trying to maintain a blank facade but was betrayed by the anxious wiggle of his left-hand fingers over the trim of his school vest. His posture had strengthened as soon as he had caught sight of Salazar's portrait, he had probably guessed who he was without needing to read the epithet under the frame. The young woman was the only one that appeared relentless not because she was uncomfortable, but because she was bursting to the brim with curiosity. She was the one who broke the silence and called out to him.

"Are you Salazar Slytherin?"

Her pureblood companion tensed visibly next to her. Good. They still instilled respect for the elders in young wizards then. Only those of dirty blood would initiate a conversation with a portrait his age, it was dreadfully irreverent. But then, children could not really be blamed for the parents' faults, could they? They would, however, be responsible for refusing to learn if they insisted on their coarse behaviour after he corrected them.

"I am, indeed. And you should know, young lady, that it is quite impertinent to speak without being spoken to when in presence of a better."

She had the courtesy to lower her eyes bashfully at his admonition.

"Now, would you please enlighten me as to today's date and the reason for your presence in my research study?"

The blond boy gave his female counterpart a light shove when she went to open her mouth again and spoke up before she had another chance to display her lack of proper upbringing.

"It is an honour to meet you, sir. Today is the twenty-seventh of October, 1996. My companions are Harry Potter, heir of the Potter House, and Hermione Granger. I am Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy House. Harry was having a conversation with one of your... stone snakes and it insisted we follow him here."

Salazar looked the other, sloppier boy over again. He did not even attempt to hide his contempt. _This_ was his descendant? Disappointment seeping from his words, he addressed the teenager:

"You are a Parseltongue."

More fidgeting. No wonder he was so unkempt if he was unable to stand still for one moment.

"Yes. Sir."

Salazar frowned at the obvious near-gaffe. The boy appeared to be gratuitously fearful of him. Perhaps it had to do with the news of Magdalena's death, or it might be the youngster was aware of how awfully inadequate he was as a Slytherin scion... While he was pondering this, the Potter child had exchanged an uncertain glance with his comrades and was now taking a deep breath. In a few seconds, his demeanour changed almost entirely: he stood taller, his shoulders squared and he looked at Salazar directly in the eyes.

"I apologise for killing your Basilisk, sir, but it, I mean, she, was determined to kill me and a friend's sister. To be honest, if you don't mind me saying, hiding such a monster in a school was pretty dangerous. Obviously, it minded its own business most of the time, but that didn't stop Voldemort from using it twice for his own crusade."

Salazar did not know whether to be insulted, flagger basted or proud. That this unremarkable teenager had vanquished a centuries-old Basilisk was unbelievable. There might be something to be done with the lad, after all. Especially if his current attitude was to be believed: gone was the meek, awkward teenager that had followed his stone pet into the room. In its place stood a brave, confident young man that stood his ground and did not avert his gaze in front of Salazar's inquisitive eyes.

"Potter, you said? It is fortunate for you that I was not overly fond of Magdalena. She was an experiment, and I was not planning to leave her behind. Had I not met an untimely death, I would have most probably harvested her for potion ingredients before she had the opportunity to develop the murderous power of her eyes. I am curious, however, as to how you defeated her. Killing a Basilisk is no small feat, was a fantastic spell discovered against them during my years of isolation?"

"Not exactly. I had a lot of help. Fawkes, that's the Headmaster's, well previous Headmaster's Phoenix, flew down and gave me the Sorting Hat and Godric Gryffindor's sword. He also blinded the Basilisk, and I just stuck the sword in its mouth when it tried to bite me. If it weren't for Fawkes, I really wouldn't have made it, though, because I did get bitten, and he had to heal me."

Now Salazar was impressed.

"You have slain a fully grown Basilisk armed only with a phoenix and a sword, at..." he ran his eyes over the slender figure of the boy to try to estimate his age, "fifteen?"

"Hum, I was twelve, but really, Fawkes did most of the work..."

"Ridiculous! By Merlin, do they not teach you youngsters to own up to your actions anymore? Modesty is a virtue, but this here is outrageous. Even Godric would not have confidently faced off a beast like Magdalena with a sword and a phoenix. Morgana, he probably would have hesitated with his wand and a dragon! And Godric was nothing if not valiant..."

Memories of the numerous occasions where his friend had jumped into dangerous situations, meeting enemies and obstacles alike, sword and wand at the ready, with a mischevious smile hidden under that red mane of his... Many had dubbed him reckless in their time, and they could not be blamed for it, for Godric had been brash and daring, but he was never careless. No, he was well aware of his weaknesses, and his strengths, not the least of which being his three close friends, Helga, Rowena and Salazar, who always had his back and would have given their lives for him. The brave, the wise, the honest and the cunning. How he missed the easy camaraderie of these times, those golden years of shared joys and woes, before he had abandoned them and left the castle in a huff... How could he have guessed he would never see its beloved walls again?

"Sir?"

He was yanked back into the present by the hesitant voice of the Gryffindor girl standing in front of his portrait. Her brow was furrowed in an expression of confused contemplation as she waited for his acknowledgement.

"Yes?"

"You said you were not planning to leave a Basilisk in the Chamber. _Hogwarts: a History_ mentions that you created the Chamber of Secrets inside the school to hide a monster tasked so that your heir might... _cleanse_ the school of students you deemed of unworthy blood. I was wondering if there was another monster, or if the writer's information was flawed?"


	16. The mysterious illness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was betaed by WeepingBadWolf, many thanks to her for her corrections!

Sunday, 27th October 1996, 6 pm  
Hallway outside of Moaning Myrtle's Bathroom, First Floor, Hogwarts

Salazar Slytherin's explanations were whirling in Harry's mind as the concealed passageway closed once again. It seemed so... unreal, that they had just spent two hours chatting with the lost portrait of one of the legendary Founders. Especially since said Founder had been very different from the picture painted by the passed-down records. Well, he was still a pompous, stuck-up git with backward ideas of blood purity, but he was not cruel. Harry shivered as the echo of the pure rage that had overcome Slytherin's portrait-self at hearing the story of the _Chamber of Secrets_ rang in his head. Even dead and stuck on a canvas, the wizard was not one to trifle with.

"Harry, are you okay?"

Hermione had one hand raised toward him, as if she had been going to catch his attention by touching his arm, but had thought better of it. Her whispered concern drew a tired sigh from his lips. No, of course not, he was not okay, and she knew it. She had had to help him up the stairs, after all -Slytherin had most generously revealed that the chute entrance to the Chamber could turn into a staircase with a parseltongue command. The steady conversation with the Founder, as fascinating as it had been, had completely drained him. He was slightly better now, thanks to a Pepper-Up potion, courtesy of Dobby and his uncanny ability to appear whenever Harry was on the verge of collapsing. The draught would carry him to the greenhouses and back, so it would look like they had spent the afternoon over there with Neville, and that was all that mattered. After that, he would only have to drag himself through dinner before he was finally allowed to retreat to his dorm and crash. Maybe he'd be lucky enough to catch a few hours of proper sleep before the nightmares invited themselves in, tonight... The misery must have shown on his face because Hermione echoed his sigh and furrowed her eyebrows.

"I really wish Madam Pomfrey would take you seriously. It's so unbelievable that she'd act as if your exhaustion was just a normal symptom of puberty..."

It was. But there was not much they could do about it. They both knew that McGonagall had already gone to the matron to urge her to help Harry and she had been turned away by meaningless assurances that what he experienced, while rather rare, was perfectly normal and would go away in time. So now the Scottish witch just looked at him pitifully whenever he flunked a lesson and turned a blind eye if he ever happened to doze in class. Not that Harry expected much from his Head of House anymore, since she had allowed Dumbledore to interfere with his life again, against the law and her duties as Headmaster.

Footsteps resonated ahead and they stepped into an alcove for a moment to let the group of students walk by. They were Ravenclaw Second Years, but Harry and Hermione were famous among the student body and they did not want to risk rumours spreading around that the two of them had been spotted alone in seldom-travelled corridors when they had told their friends they were studying with Neville. Of course, Ron probably would not be so worried about Harry going Dark if he thought Harry was _just_ snogging Hermione in a dark hallway when he was not hanging around with him, but the idea of Hermione and Harry dating would probably drive him crazy in a completely different way. Just thinking about it made Harry's head throb. Or maybe it was the exhaustion. At least he had finished his homework for Monday before he had wandered away in the Chamber and chanced upon the talking sculpture. As is was, the snake had been pretty miffed to have missed the tale of the Basilisk's death and had made Harry promise he'd recount it again when he came back, under the threat of telling its _Father_ Harry was an oath-breaker if he did not.

Now, Harry did not think Slytherin would take that very seriously, for he clearly considered his stone creations to be annoyingly shallow. But on the off-chance that he _did_ take it seriously, Harry would make sure he took the time to entertain the demanding cobra during his next foray into the underground room. Harry doubted it would be long before he went back. While he still had trouble wrapping his head around the fact that he had just spent his afternoon discussing with one of the legendary Founders -not to mention getting the truth about the misnamed Chamber of Secrets- Hermione and Draco very obviously revelled in the opportunity. He could practically hear the cogs whirring in Hermione's brain as they walked side by side. He was pretty sure their next tutoring session would be spent in Slytherin's study, digging through his extensive research, rather than working on their homework. Well, Harry would probably be working on his homework, he didn't have the energy to spare, but Hermione and Draco? They would not be able to resist. _Especially_ since said research focused mainly on the origin of magical abilities and the impact of reproduction and bloodlines on them, according to the old portrait.

For that was what the Chamber had originally been designed as: a research laboratory. The huge hall, the hidden study and its attached library had been added to the school by the Founder when his colleagues and friends had pointed out to him that some of his experiments were too dangerous to conduct in a place that the students could access. Of course, his secret hideaway could have been far less grandiloquent and eerie, from a purely scientific point of view, but as the elder had declared, to each their own. There, Salazar Slytherin had indulged in magical creature breeding and blood rituals of all sorts in an attempt to uncover the beginning of wizards and witches. Far from looking for a justification to the exclusion of Muggleborns, his research had apparently stemmed from a desire to bring magic to the general population. However, his conclusions had been that Muggle blood weakened the power of magic-gifted lines.

Harry still could not figure out what exactly the purpose of the Basilisk had been in the experimentation process, but to be honest, he didn't care much. What mattered was that Slytherin had left the castle in a huff, had died soon after and had left a growing mythical snake with a deadly gaze in a castle inhabited mainly by teenagers. And no amount of clamors and vociferations on the elder's part at the idea of an _heir_ using his pet-cum-experiment to murder fellow students would convince Harry that hatching a live weapon in the bowels of Hogwarts had been a terribly short-sighted idea. The kind Snape was always blaming his friends and him for, except surely one could expect better judgement from the founder of a renowned wizarding school.

Anyway, the fault rested on Tom Riddle's shoulders more than anyone else's; unlocking an ancient secret chamber to manipulate the beast within into killing one's schoolmates was many steps further than your usual school pranks, after all. And despite his apparently deep conviction that Muggle blood was weakening the Wizarding World, Salazar Slytherin had made it _very_ clear to the three teenagers that he did not condone the Dark Lord's actions or values. After his initial rant on young Tom Riddle's impudence and foolishness, the portrait had grilled them on the war and everything to do with it.

There had been a few awkward hesitations on their part, as they were officially from different sides of the conflict. Their doubts had quickly yielded to Slytherin's forcefulness, however, and apart from the existence of the Order of Phoenix none of them had learned much from the others. Draco had obviously been very uncomfortable with his position as a member of the dark faction of the war but both his friends and the Founder of his House had assured him that they did not hold the Death Eaters' actions against him. Salazar Slytherin's had gone even further by drilling into them all that no children were supposed to be involved in such conflicts and that they could not be held responsible for the nonsense imposed on him by ill-advised adults. And he would not hear anything about a prophecy, which he considered to be a _very foolish concept to base one's life upon_.

Despite the Basilisk oversight, the ancient painting had gone up greatly in Harry's esteem when he had categorically labelled Dumbledore as a _bumptious pidgeon-liver'd levereter who's not so much brain as ear wax_ and declared him to be only marginally better than Voldemort... He was not too sure what the qualificatives meant but Slytherin's tone had made it quite obvious it was not positive.

They had reached the greenhouses while Harry was rehashing Salazar Slytherin's explanations and they slipped into Greenhouse Four where Neville was waiting for them. The chubby young man was perched on a stone stool, reading a heavy tome out loud to a Fanged Geranium. He stopped and smiled when he heard them approach.

"Hermione, Harry! Did your afternoon go okay?"

"Okay? You could say that, yes..."

Harry gave a chuckle behind Hermione, as _okay_ was definitively the last word he would have used to describe their afternoon. More like unexpected, mind-boggling, thrilling, fascinating...

"We had an encounter with the most interesting portrait... We'll have to bring you to meet him someday."

"A portrait? In the Chamber of Secrets? I thought it was some sort of bare and gloomy hall."

"Well, it wasn't _just_ a portrait... I imagine it's the only one that would make sense there."

Hermione was really enjoying this. Neville was looking between them with a confused and slightly put-upon frown, trying to figure out what he could possibly have missed while he was putting his supplies away.

"A portrait specific to the Slytherin's secret room? I don't see... Oh! You don't mean...?"

Their friend's expression was nearly comical to witness as he realised who they were referring too. His face seemed to oscillate between bewilderment, reverence and mild disgust. He was probably imagining some ancient clone of Snape, maybe posher and even nastier.

"Yes, Salazar Slytherin in person! Well, in portrait, but one cannot be too demanding with century-dead wizards. I wouldn't say he was charming, but he certainly was eager to share his knowledge and correct the misconceptions history has carried about him. Can you imagine that..."

And with that Hermione launched into a passionate retelling of their conversation with the Founder. Harry was content to let her bring Neville up to date with their last adventure, trudging behind them as they hiked back to the castle again. His dear witch friend was so excited that she merely lessened the volume of her voice when they reached the populated Entrance Hall and went on to whisper frantically about the theories Slytherin had entertained them with and the fantastic research potential his private library presented.

She only fell silent when they sat down at the Gryffindor table and Ron joined them with Seamus and Dean. Thankfully, Neville took over seamlessly before the newly arrived boys had time to wonder what they had been discussing that had been so interesting.

"You're right, I would have never imagined that it could grow so fast. None of the accounts of the Moonborn Lace speaks of grounded fish speeding up their development. I wonder if Professor Sprout will authorise a formal experiment on the subject or if she'll think it only a random occurrence."

* * *

Monday, 28th October 1996, 11 am  
Classroom 3C, Serpentine Corridor, Third Floor, Hogwarts

Moody was on a rampage again. He had charmed a golden disk to fly over the classroom had fire mild hexes randomly on overwrought students while they attempted to complete a surprise test. In addition to the regular magical attacks, his poor victims had to contend with trick questions popping now and then on the board for less than a minute before they vanished again. The disturbed ex-Auror had warned them that for each of those questions they left unanswered they would serve one hour of detention.

Harry had long given up any effort to finish the exam. His focus was on shielding from the disk's attacks with a book -as his magic was once again AWOL- and scratching semblances of answers to the timed questions. He did not need additional detentions to weight down his workload. Ron was scribbling furiously next to him, his wand held between in middle and ring fingers to maintain a generic shield over him and his test paper. His method apparently left a lot to be desired: the protection had already failed several times and he had had to start all over again once after his first piece of parchment had been singed beyond hope by a Quickburn spell. On Harry's other side, Hermione had adopted a more magically impressive strategy, as she simultaneously powered a shield, a dictation spell on her quill, a silencing bubble to be able to verbalise her essays to the writing implement and an alarm spell keyed to the chalkboard to warn her of appearing questions. She would probably be the only one not flunking the test, if the very frequent swearwords flying across the classroom were to be believed, and the stiff holding of a back was the only sign betraying the strain the exercise put on her.

Harry winced as a new hex exploded against his book shelter. The force of the impact had jostled his arm and pushed his back on the edge of the desk behind him, upsetting the many bruises that covered the area. He was lucky that he had had time to recover since his last _training_ session, else he would have probably vocalised his pain and drawn Moody's thunderous attention on him. As it was, the unstable teacher was laying into Pansy Parkinson, who had had the stupidity to get injured enough that he had to intervene, lest he get in trouble with McGonagall for maiming his students. Of course, this restriction did not apply to the Boy-Who-Lived, who could not die from anything, could he, since the most powerful Dark Lord of their time himself had not managed to kill him, so it was okay to hurt him - as long as it was for the greater good.

When the bell signalling the end of the period finally rang, not many of his classmates managed to suppress their relieved sighs. This period had been hell and the Hospital Wing would probably be busy during the next hour. With some luck, Madam Pomfrey would complain to the Headmistress and she would manage to get Moody to lay low for a bit. Harry was far from certain it would be the case, however: after all, they had been exposed to danger during classes before -from Blast-Ended Skrewts to the Imperius- and nothing less than actual crippling injuries had resulted in reactions from parents or the Board. The magical world was dangerous and contrary to the stance of many Muggle governments, witches and wizards did not seem very inclined towards a regulation and prevention policy. But then, what could you expect from a society where it was considered normal to let twelve-year-old children get smashed up by heavy flying balls in the name of sports.

Harry slowly packed up his supplies, delaying until the bulk of the class had left to avoid being jostled in the rush.

Hermione was waiting for him at the door, shadowed by Ron. She looked him over, evaluating his general condition from the pallor of his skin and the tremor in his hands, a habit she had developed since his magic had started going wonky. He half-shrugged, mindful of his tender back. It had not actually been so bad for him. He had not been forced to practice magic and had avoided being directly hit by anything. He would be able to take a quick nap after lunch to fight the edge of the exhaustion and would probably be relatively fine until bedtime, as long as he avoided any catastrophes during Potions.

He definitely looked better than Ron, whose right hand was burned and who had some unidentifiable white, gooey substance covering his hair.

"Maybe you should go see Madam Pomfrey, Ron. It's probably better not to leave that burn untreated, won't be quite so handy to play Quidditch."

Hermione threw him an amused glare. She had obviously been trying to convince the red-head of the same while waiting for him, to no avail. Now, at the mention of his favourite sport, the lanky teenager was scowling at his injured limb.

"Right, mate. I'll catch up with you later then. G'd luck with the greasy git."

Harry had to poke Hermione to stop her from scolding the retreating back of their friend about his usual rude reference to the Potion Master. It was useless and the tired Gryffindor really could do without another argument between the two, especially as it meant being late at lunch and having to skip his nap...

* * *

Wednesday, 30th October 1996, Early morning  
Harry Potter's mindscape

"And what about mermaids? They're real too?"

The boy vibrated in excitement as he listed every mythical creature he could think of and learned that most of them existed. His innocent delight amused the Dark Lord, who quite enjoyed regaling the tyke with facts on the Wizarding World. He was stuck there, anyway, for as long as Potter was dreaming, so he might as well take what joy he could from his assumed persona of the benevolent guardian Azrael.

"Yes, child, they are. The ones you are thinking of are Sirens, to be more precise, and live in warm waters."

"So we don't have any in Britain?"

Why the boy would be so disappointed at the idea that he lived in a country free of cruel beasts who made a game of luring and drowning weak-minded men, Voldemort could only guess.

"No sirens live close to us, indeed. However, other species of merpeople occupy our waters: Irish lakes are home to the Merrows, while Scotland is inhabited by Selkies. Both species are less... aesthetically pleasing to our human sensitivities, but are mighty warriors with a fine ear for music. When you go to Hogwarts, you will be able to meet some, should you wish to. There is a selkie colony in the Black Lake on the school grounds."

"Wow, mermaids at the school! That's so cool! You said Hogwarts was in Scotland, right, does that mean I can meet the Loch Ness Monster, too?"

The Loch Ness monster, and what next, a Basilisk, maybe? Why was it that kids were attracted to dangerous and ugly creatures?

"I'm afraid not. What Muggles call the Loch Ness monster is simply a Kelpie, and, as its name suggests, it resides in Loch Ness."

"Oh..."

Those emotional roller coasters were becoming more annoying than endearing. Did the boy have no control? Of course he did not, he was seven years old, and from what the older wizard remembered from his time in the orphanage, children that age were emotion-driven monsters. Not that young Harry was a monster, merely... overly excitable.

"You will, most probably, meet the Giant Squid... He likes to play catch with students."

"Really!?"

Voldemort could almost see the sparkles twinkling in his small interlocutor's eyes.

"Is it like a Kraken? There was a Kraken in that book we read at school, but it lived in the sea, not a lake, and it ate sailors from ships it destroyed, so I don't think it could live in a lake in a school, since there's no ship to attack... D'you think it eats the students, instead? Oh, play catch with students, d'you mean it's throwing the students around?"

"No. It plays catch _with_ the students by throwing pebbles back and forth to them. And while I am not familiar with its diet, I know for sure that it does not eat students. Human-eating beasts are not allowed on school grounds, for obvious reasons."

"Ah, ok. And what about unicorns? It'd be pretty cool to be able to ride a unicorn, don't you think?"

* * *

Wednesday, 30th October 1996, 7 am  
Sixth Year Dormitory, Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts

For once, Harry woke up slowly and with a warm, peaceful feeling permeating his consciousness. His dreams had been filed with fantasies of magical animals rather than death and pain; he rather welcomed the change. It was a very strange sensation, being exhausted to his very core and feeling well rested at the same time. He had not had an uninterrupted night of sleep since the Hogwarts matron had forcefully weaned him off the Dreamless Draught. It was... refreshing. He wondered where the pleasant dreams had come from while hauling himself out of bed and shifting to the bathroom. He had that fleeting memory of another being there, someone he knew but who might have been from another time. Someone he had known from his time at the Dursleys, perhaps? But it would not have been coherent with the impression of safety and recognition associated with the shadow. It was too much trouble to try and decipher it, anyway, when he needed all of his pitiful energy to get through his day of classes. Maybe if he had not dropped Divination after his OWLs, Trelawney would have been able to read something from it. His own premature and painful death, most probably. God, he definitely did _not_ regret ditching the oddball's class.

He ignored the worried glances thrown his way by his various housemates as he walked down for breakfast, Hermione at his side. It was far too early for the third of their trio to be up, so Harry enjoyed the relative quiet as the last remainders of his sleepy peace of mind dissolved. Absently, he filled his plate with whatever food was within reach. The day would be filled with Charms and a compulsory study hall under Madam Hooch's benevolent watch. No gloomy dungeon bat or paranoid ex-Auror to spoil his mood, at least not until after dinner. With some luck, Snape would be supervising detentions in the lab and leave him to study alone in his office. The Potion Master had done so once already, though not after warning him that he had placed a monitoring charm on the room and that the teenager would severely regret it if he were to mess with anything. As if Harry would dare go through his Professor's belongings again after the catastrophic conclusion to their Occlumency lessons the previous year...

Charms was boring when one could not perform any magic. Harry had managed one feeble wordless Levitation Charm before his power had fizzled down to nothing. It was starting to honestly frighten the short Gryffindor. What if it never came back to normal? He could not imagine that even the combined effects of puberty and the gruesome training Moody put him through could be responsible for the prolonged near disappearance of his magic. Did he have some bizarre illness that was slowly turning him into a Squib? He should ask Draco, the Pureblood would probably know if such a sickness existed since Madam Pomfrey was utterly useless on this question. The absurdity of a magicless Boy-Who-Lived expected to save the entire Wizarding World drew a dry chuckle from him. It would serve them right if he became a Squib! Not that he wanted to, of course, but at least he would finally be left alone. Probably, maybe...? Dumbledore would certainly still try to play puppet-master with his life.

A rogue feather bobbed him in the head. He sent it back to a sheepish Seamus with a mock glare. Around him, the other students were practising flying their feather wordlessly or, for those who had mastered it already, alternatively engorging and shrinking them. A couple of particularly successful students, namely Hermione and Mandy Brocklehurst from Ravenclaw, had achieved those first exercises easily enough that they were now practising their full collection of charms non-verbally. Harry had never spoken much with the girl from the blue-and-bronze house but he was impressed by her elegant combination of spells: she had grown flowers around her feather, had frozen them and somehow managed to envelop the ensemble inside a fireball mildly glowing in changing colours. A rather enchanting vision.

Harry had never been one to focus specifically on the aesthetic possibilities of magic. Like all Muggle-raised students, he had been in awe of the ceiling of the Great Hall for months after joining Hogwarts and had gotten used in time to the opulence that characterised so many buildings of Wizarding Britain. However, he had never paid much thought to the spells and runes behind it at all, being more focused on the numerous offensive and defensive applications of magic than the artistic ones. No one could blame him for it, though, considering how trouble seemed to find him wherever he went -granted, most of those troubles seemed to originate from two wizards, Dumbledore and Voldemort.

Wait. Did that rhyme? Dear God, he had never noticed before! It was so silly that he felt like standing up for a little dance singing "Voldemort, Dumbledore. Dumbledore, Voldemort" over and over again. It would go down perfectly if he ever wrote an epic poem of his life. Harry Potter and the rhyming baddies. He was sure to go down in history with a tale like this.

Checking the permanent Tempus at the back of the room, Harry realised that they had about half an hour left of class before lunch. Considering he could not participate in the practical and had already read his book from cover to back, he figured it could not hurt to have some quiet fun with the idea. Cleaning the feathery pieces away from his desk, he settled down with some spare parchment and his quill.

* * *

Thursday, 31th October 1996, 3 pm  
Salazar Slytherin's study, Chamber of Secrets, Hogwarts

" _Harry Potter, once a toddler, was nearly sent beyond by a Dark Lord's wand. The bad wizard died, or so was thought worldwide, but in truth his soul had merely gone for a stroll. It came back with a vengeance when the boy of the magic school met the entrance. Year after year they clashed, From teacher to ash, From diary to ink, With a rat for link, Until stolen blood, Of the dead soul restored the flood. But the evil of a Dark Lord Had left Destiny quite bored. It was now the Light Vanguard who was drawing the cruel cards, for there was a match to Voldemort in the bearded Dumbledore._ "

"Why, Harry, I didn't know you were a poet!"

"Oh, shut up you dork, I was bored! It was just a silly thing to pass the time, I didn't expect Hermione here to poke her nose into my Charms notes!"

Harry glared good-naturedly at his aforementioned friend while she and Draco snickered lightly at his fake anger. They were all sat in comfortable armchairs around a low table in Slytherin's research study. They had been completing their homework -or more accurately Hermione and Draco had been breezing through theirs and helping Harry as he struggled with his own- when the energetic girl had chanced upon her housemate's whimsical production. She had then stood up and insisted on reading it out loud to them, in a deep, ominous voice, emphasising the text with grand sweeping gestures of her hands. The ridicule of the whole performance had drawn a chuckle from even the great Slytherin in his portrait. Said wizard had welcomed them back readily into his sanctuary when they had arrived for their accustomed Thursday study session, but he had put his foot down, figuratively speaking, at discussing his research or the war situation before they were done with whatever work they had to hand in the following day. Of course, neither Draco nor Hermione had had much left to do before meeting his condition but they had agreed to study together until at least half past three in order to show Harry their support. The Gryffindor boy was so tired that he was zoning out every few minutes and they had to call his attention back to the task, which of course turned writing an essay into an agonisingly slow process. They could have simply composed the paper for him, they had even offered, but the weary teenager was determined to at least keep up with the theoretical workload since he could not do any of the required practicing.

Soon after half past, Draco handed Harry his proofread Charms essay back and stood up to stretch. Now was the really interesting part of the afternoon; he could not wait to dive into the misjudged scholar's research, the scientific proof that blood mattered as far as magic went. Of course, that did not mean he looked down on Hermione because of her birth! No, he was past those petty prejudices. The witch was absolutely brilliant and he had been a fool not to see that during their first school years. But if Salazar Slytherin was right -and Draco did not believe there was much doubt about that- something needed to be done to stop the decline of magic. And this something could not be the genocide of all Muggleborns and blood-traitors... Which is why, since Hermione had put forward the idea that they should investigate, with the wise portrait's help, what _could_ be done, after they had left the Chamber the previous weekend, he had been itching to get a start.

It had been something of a relief for Draco to realise that the beliefs he had been brought up with had had at least _some_ factual and rational base. The last few months had shaken his foundations quite badly; his all-powerful -asshole of a- father grovelling at a psychopathic monster's feet, the fanatic entourage of said monster murdering the last of a Noble and Most Ancient House, the much-discussed shift from mindless slaughter to organised warfare that had occurred during the summer, the understanding that the world the Dark faction painted was one in which some of Draco's classmates would be brutally tortured and then heartlessly executed, the mission entrusted to him to befriend the nemesis of his Lord... What was one supposed to do when one recognised their values were fundamentally flawed?

Thick water coming to cloud his vision, Draco took a deep breath to push the somber reflections away and pull himself together. His pride would not let him fall apart in front of the esteemed Founder of his House. Besides, Harry had asked for his help while they were on their way down and he was determined to find the key to his friend's wayward magic. He had never heard of an illness which would have had similar symptoms to the young Gryffindor's and he knew asking his parents would be a mistake. While he had befriended Harry on the Dark Lord's order, there was a high chance they were not privy to those specific instructions. However, he had a far more knowledgeable person available: while Salazar Slytherin's expertise might be somewhat outdated, the man was wise and well-read enough that he would probably be able to guide Draco on his search of answers if he could not personally explain Harry's affliction. He was unsure how to proceed, however. Should he address the problem immediately and have his friend explain the issue face-to-face, or should he find a way to confer with the elder in private to not had on Harry's burdened mind? He also had to take Hermione into consideration: the girl had made it clear, with a very pointed look, that he should not dare exclude her on account on her lineage.

Said Muggleborn joined him in front of the shelves overflowing with books that he had been surveying absentmindedly.

"Harry's out."

He checked back over his shoulder, the dark-haired boy was indeed breathing deeply, slumped over the coffee table and his Herbology book. Well, it had been due to happen sooner or later. The position could not be very comfortable however. Reviewing the spells in his repertoire that might be helpful there, Draco drew his wand out of its sheath and quietly moved closer to his sleeping friend. It was a testament to how far their relationship had evolved in terms of trust that the protective Hermione did not react in any way to his drawn wand pointed on their unconscious schoolmate. A few swishes and mumbled words later and Harry's head burrowed deep into the now soft tome-transfigured-pillow and a light slate-grey blanket settled over his collapsed form. The young Slytherin added a silencing charm for good measure, though he was convinced that they would need to make quite a racket to wake the boy up now that he had lost his battle again sleep, and turned to face the portrait of their host. The aged painting was peering down at them with a sober expression. Salazar Slytherin had been silent while Draco worked through his hesitations, maybe out of respect for Harry's obvious falling under, but he was now clearly expecting them to launch the conversation.

Draco exchanged a glance with his schoolmate. It was undeniable that they were both itching to question the portrait on his findings and to peruse his research for themselves. However, it was just as evident that Harry needed their help and they cared about him enough to put their personal cravings for knowledge aside. The platinum-blond Slytherin nodded to Hermione and addressed his House Founder:

"We are in need of your assistance, sir, if you would be so kind as to advise us. You might have noticed that Harry is suffering from extreme fatigue. He has also been struggling with his magic and has had to visit the Hospital Wing for core exhaustion several times this month. He has intensive Dueling training twice a week but beyond this is not engaging in any strenuous activity, be it physical or magical. We have not been able to think of any explanation to his condition. He suffered from an addiction to a sleeping potion earlier this year but has been weaned already and was clearly on the mend. The Matron claims his power and energy levels are fluctuating because of puberty but he is hesitant to believe her as she overlooked flagrant signs of abuse despite numerous examinations during his five first years."

Draco had felt Hermione tense at the mention of Harry's treatment by his family but he truly believed it was important to hint toward a possible cause in the Gryffindor's past medical history. In addition to this, Salazar Slytherin would without a doubt question why they were seeking help from him and not the authority figure in charge of health matters in the school. He quickly reviewed what else he knew of the situation but could not recall any information worth mentioning in this first overview of the problem.

"Would you know of any sickness likely to cause those symptoms?"

"Sickness? What you describe sounds like a curse to me, more than an illness. Very few medical conditions were known in my time to cause significant fluctuations in magical power; all brought about violent episodes of accidental magic, which young Potter here does not appear to suffer from. I would be very surprised if a novel disease had emerged in the last centuries that was susceptible of turning a wizard into a Squib, and even more so if such a terrible malady was not widely known and feared. A curse, however... I can think of a few which might provoke those symptoms. None a very good augur for your friend. I presume you are not acquainted with a reliable curse breaker?"

Draco sighed. A curse would make everything simpler and more complex at the same time. Simpler, because almost all curses had their counter and it was only a matter of identifying it. More complex, because information on such spells would be heavily restricted. Additionally, Draco would have to find a way to apprise the Dark Lord of the situation, as he would unquestionably be severely punished at Christmas if he had failed to relay something so crucial. And while he was sure his master would not have cursed Harry Potter without informing him, it was not in the realm of the impossible for one of his more unreliable supporters to have performed the deed against orders.

"Harry and I know one, but I doubt we will be able to bring him to the school or to get Harry out. Bill Weasley."

Hermione had added the last part in response to Draco questioning look. She was right. The eldest Weasley might do the trick, but arranging a private meeting between him and their suffering friend would be a nightmare.

"We could try during a Hogsmeade week-end? Dumbledore has not managed to get Harry banned from those yet... We would just have to make sure Moody is called somewhere else and their dueling practice is cancelled."

Hermione nodded before summoning her notebook to lay down their plans. Slytherin had them explain the conditions of Hogsmeade week-ends, as the village had not existed in his time, before the three of them puzzled over a way to occupy Moody for an entire Saturday without giving him enough time to plan a replacement activity for Harry. They also planned how they would get in contact with William Weasley -Hermione would ask to meet with him to discuss carrier possibilities, where they would meet -Draco knew of a quiet out-of-the-way inn which rented out private parlours to the hour, as well as many other details.

When they woke up Harry at the end of the afternoon, in time for them to join the rest of the school for the Halloween Feast, they were confident that as long as Weasley agreed to Hermione's request, their strategy should unfold smoothly. They brought their sleepy friend up to date on the way back to the Myrtle's bathroom, only leaving aside the Founder's pessimistic opinion of what would happen should they not manage to identify and remove the curse. Harry had been almost stoic at the news that he might have been cursed, simply shrugging and stating that it made a lot more sense than contracting a mysterious and rare illness, though with his luck it would not have surprised him either.


	17. The hurtful truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to WeepingBadWolf for betaing this chapter :)

Saturday, 2nd November 1996, 3 pm  
Lord Voldemort's study, Malfoy Manor

Voldemort was holding the letter from the Malfoy heir, caressing the parchment while he pondered his reply. Narcissa had brought the missive in the morning, explaining that she believed her son had left a message for him between the lines.

She had not been wrong. Once he had found the suspicious section, it had been obvious that Draco was reporting on his mission. A mission that was progressing smoothly if the young man was to be trusted, and the Dark Lord did not think he would dare magnify his progress to such a scale knowing that he would have to answer to him directly at Christmas. It was conform to the limited insight Severus had relayed to him on the subject. However, the letter had also contained a worrying piece of information, which certainly explained why the Malfoy scion had deemed it necessary to communicate with him despite his orders to the contrary. Voldemort would have to make sure he knew to send his messages through Snape if the need ever occurred again. Encrypted memos were painfully imprecise when one was not following a predefined convention. In this case, though, Draco Malfoy's subtlety had to be lauded: while the information was very sparse, he had formulated it in a way that left little doubt to its meaning. Harry Potter believed he had been cursed to lose his magic, a belief the Dark Lord's little spy seconded. Said spy wanted the confirmation from the Dark Lord that the latter was not responsible for the fact, so that he could safely support Potter in getting rid of the curse.

Despite his decision to try and bring the young Gryffindor wizard to his side and the ambiguous feelings that plagued him after their numerous shared dreams, Lord Voldemort entertained for a moment the regret of not being the one who had actually cursed the teenager. Could the brat not behave and live a normal, trouble-free life for a few months? It would certainly make the Dark Lord's work less strenuous if he did not have to worry about keeping his nemesis alive long enough to make him turn sides. Maybe he should just kidnap the boy already and be done with it. But Severus had warned him that Dumbledore, that meddlesome blood-traitor, had affixed a long-distance Portkey to Potter's arm. Another obstacle he would have to remove before he could claim the Boy-Who-Lived, willing or otherwise.

Bringing his attention back to the letter, Voldemort resolved to wait until he could ascertain that none of his more... volatile followers had taken the liberty to place a differed spell on the Chosen One during the brief period he had broken them free of Azkaban before sending his reply back through Severus. Hopefully, the boy would correctly interpret his lack of response to mean that his master had nothing specific to say on the subject. The Dark Lord could not afford to summon his valued spy twice in a short time, less Dumbledore and his Order demand from him more information than the Dark side was willing to let on.

* * *

Sunday, 3rd November 1996, 11 am  
Salazar Slytherin's study, Chamber of Secrets, Hogwarts

Harry was alone in Slytherin's study. He was painstakingly working his way through an optional reading for Herbology while Hermione and Draco brewed some skin soother and muscle relaxants in the main chamber. Salazar had given them the recipes but had point blank refused to let them work in the study. He had built the huge stone hall specifically for experiments and potion work and he would not tolerate even the most innocuous brewing in his cosy and refined sanctuary. Harry did not mind it so much. While he truly enjoyed the company of his two friends, they also put a lot of pressure on him with their worry and their desire to help. In comparison, the portrait of the Founder was a quiet companion, yet was able to answer any question he had on his text in short and clear explanations.

The young Gryffindor could feel the painting's gaze on him as he read and he knew the elder had questions but just like during their previous visit, Slytherin had insisted he complete his homework before anything else. Since there was no way he could write until his friends brought him the potions, thanks to a mean hex that had severely irritated his right hand and arm during his last duelling session with Moody, he was doing his best to progress in his plant identification for his self-study Herbology assignment. With Neville's god sent help, he had managed not to kill his remaining two plants but he had only been able to identify the species of one of them. The classification key was no help because he needed flowers to answer some of the questions and the plant did not even have appearing buds. He had to hand in his report in a week so he was currently trying to match everything he had noticed about the herb with a description in a huge encyclopedia Professor Sprout had lent to him. She had promised the plant was cited in it -he was now sure she had lied about the seeds being unidentified and she knew perfectly well what they were- but right now he had a dozen potential candidates but none that fit perfectly, and he was not even halfway through the book.

Lunch was a welcome break from schoolwork for Harry, though he resented having to trek back up to the Great Hall to eat and pretend that he was the perfect Light soldier, and it was obvious that both Hermione and Draco would prefer by far to remain down there with Slytherin's apparently mind-blowing research journals, even if it meant skipping a meal. Hermione had practically growled at him when he had tried to pry the parchment she was reading from her hands. Above them, the portrait had chuckled before ordering the two bookworms out with a threat to have his stone minions block the way back to his study if they were away for less than an hour. Draco had pretended to be tragically wounded by the thought that they might be barred from the newfound source of knowledge and had dragged the two Gryffindors out, forcing Hermione to abandon her precious notebook. Their antics had drawn a smile from Harry, who really could not imagine a book interesting enough that he would have to be threatened to let it go for a meal. But then, they did not have the same history of food restriction being used as a punishment...

Positive thoughts, positive thoughts! What had happened before was not important, one step after the other, he needed to focus on the present. He was feeling better, physically, thanks to the potions his friends had made for him. That was good. And he would get to spend the afternoon with them, away from the judging eyes of his school population and the manipulations of Dumbledore. He would not be faced with the humiliation of not being able to perform magic, though he was not sure that counted as a happy thought. The fact that both his long-time Gryffindor friend and his Slytherin enemy-turned-confidant were working together to find a treatment for him warmed his heart. They were the best students of their year and combined the smartest intellect of their generation -as Hermione was often called- and the solid knowledge of a Pureblood heir. And they had the support of Salazar Slytherin, famous Founder of Hogwarts and, as it turned out, one of the most talented researchers of his time. Whoever was responsible for his current state had better watch out, because they did not know who they were going up against!

Boosted by this small self-pep-talk, Harry followed Hermione into the Great Hall and to their table. He noticed Draco on the other side of the room, already sat and chatting with his housemates. No one seemed to pay specific attention to them and Moody was not even there yet, so it looked like they had once again managed not to raise suspicions.

Hermione filled both their plates with a portion of shepherd's pie and some steamy greens. She handed Harry his with a pointed look, a habit she had kept from those few weeks during summer at the beginning of the year when eating had been an unbearable chore for the boy. He did not mind it some much now, unless he was so exhausted he kept falling asleep over his food, he knew quite well he needed the fuel. Pepper-Up could only carry him so far. Still, he was far from sharing the ravenous appetite displayed by the other adolescent boys at their table. He ate slowly and did not often fancy dessert, unlike Ron who invariably gulped down three portions of main dishes plus a couple of sweet services. Thankfully, he had gained manners over the years and was now capable of chewing with his mouth closed and swallowing before speaking. It was something Harry was very grateful for at the moment as Ron was happily chatting about Quidditch with Seamus and periodically tried to include his Seeker friend in the discussion.

A treacle tart appeared in front of him and he debated having a slice. He was leaning more toward the positive when Ron's worried voice cut through his inner debate.

"You're not taking any?"

Harry frowned at the ginger. From the confused expression on Hermione's face, he was not the only one who could not figure out where that concern came from. Surely Ron was not planning to eat the entire tart?

"I'm deciding, why? You can take some if that's what you want, there's more than enough to share."

"No no, I just thought, it's weird, you love treacle tart and I've never seen you refuse one, so..."

"Err, Ron, the elves make treacle tart all the time, it's not like I always eat some. I love it, sure, but I wouldn't want to have some at every meal..."

Ron turned bright red when he realised that his comment had been rather stupid. For once, he decided not to dig a deeper hole for himself and pointedly started to demolish his cream puffs. Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance. What had that been about?

They had dragged Ron with them into an empty classroom, determined to figure out what was going on with him before they slipped away for their quiet afternoon in the Chamber of Secrets. Harry hoped their chat would not take too long, for Draco was stuck waiting for them in the decrepit bathroom in the meantime. He would have to ask Slytherin's portrait if there was a way to let non-Parseltongue speaker open the entrance.

They stood there, Hermione and him facing a partly confused, partly embarrassed Ron. Harry was getting tired of his redhead friend putting his foot in his mouth all the time. At least this time he had not gone running to Dumbledore with whatever was upsetting him. Hermione crossed her arms and stuck her chin out challengingly. Good, she would deal with Ron's emotional mess, she was much better than him at that! To be honest, he had agreed with her that they needed to talk to Ron because he was afraid if they didn't the brash Gryffindor would probably do something stupid again, but he could not care less about the youngest Weasley boy's feelings. He did not have the energy to spare for someone who was as unreliable as he had proved to be.

When it looked like no one was planning on speaking up anytime soon, Harry turned to grab a chair from a nearby desk and set it down backwards so he could sit and rest his arms and head on its backrest. It seemed to prompt Hermione to speak, probably because she remembered how tired he always was and that he could not without prolonged drama.

"What's up with you Ron? Since when do you pay attention to other people's eating habits?"

Said boy grimaced and scratched his neck.

"It's not other people, it's just Harry. I'm worried, mate, you're always tired, your magic is all over the place, and no matter what you say I'm still convinced Malfoy has something to do with it. Think about it, Pomfrey's explanation doesn't make any sense and all this started when you began hanging out with the git... You should let Bill check you for curses. I promise I'm not going to go and run to anyone about it, I'll let you deal with it, but please? I can ask him to come to Hogsmeade if you'd like?"

That was a surprisingly considerate and mature proposition, coming from Ron. Apart from his continued conviction that Draco was responsible for all the wrong in Harry's life, of course, but Harry had quit hoping for that to change.

He could not decide what to tell his housemate: should they explain about their plan get Harry checked up by Bill, or the fact that they already suspected the unlucky boy was the victim of a curse? The problem was that it was always difficult to predict how Ron would react and Harry did not want that information to get back to Dumbledore or even the Weasley parents. It was why Hermione had lied to Bill about the reason she wanted to meet him for.

Next to him, the girl was waiting for his input. He honestly did not know what the best strategy was and he trusted her, it had been she and Draco's plan, after all, so he just gave her a shrug. She caught his eyes for a moment, and, apparently satisfied with what she had seen, nodded decisively and turned back to Ron.

"We know it is likely Harry's been cursed. We won't agree on who did it, so let's not argue about it, but we have a plan you might be able to help us with. I'm meeting with Bill next Hogsmeade weekend, but he thinks I want career advice. Harry'll come with me under his cloak and we'll ask Bill to check him over. We're not sure if he needs to have anything special prepared to check for curses though, so if you could find a way to tell him why we are truly meeting, that'd help."

"You've been planning to meet my brother and you didn't even ask me?!"

Harry could see Ron's face shift from worry to a very familiar anger.

"What am I, to you? You never spend time with me anymore, you only talk to me when you're after I'll make a scene and now you've been sending letters to my family behind my back? I thought you had forgiven me!"

"Stop acting like a child, Ronald Weasley! What is it you are really worried about? Harry's health or not being his best friend anymore? Because if it's the former you're doing a terrible job showing it! You are the reason why Moody torturing him twice a week, you've seen the wounds he comes back with every time! And even if he wanted to spend time with you he wouldn't be able to since you have made sure every bit of his free time was taken away. And you wonder why he hasn't told you he was asking for your brother's help? I'm done, I'm done with you! Harry can continue to pretend you might change for the better if he wants but I'm done waiting for you to grow up! And don't you dare go cry about that to Dumbledore or whoever, or I'll make sure the twins make your life a living hell for the years to come!"

Hermione was screeching at the top of her lungs by the end of her rant. She gave a wordless scream of frustration and stormed out of the room. Before either boy had time to come out of their shock, she was back, throwing the door open and grunting to Harry:

"You know where to find me when you're done with this imbecile!"

This time the door stayed closed after she slammed it. Not wanting to stay alone with his ex-best friend when they had nothing more to say to each other, Harry quickly grabbed his things and escaped before Ron could gather his bearings. There was no way he could deal with the fury that would not fail to explode from the castigated teenager when he came out of his daze.

* * *

Sunday, 3rd November 1996, 2 pm  
Moaning Myrtle's Bathroom, First Floor, Hogwarts

Draco had not been expecting Hermione to arrive alone. She seemed irate, ready to strangle someone with her bare hands. Before he could ask what had happened, however, Harry, looking much more demure, followed her into the bathroom. Gesturing that he would answer Draco's questions down in the Chamber, the dark-haired boy stepped to the sinks and hissed the password to open the passage.

They made their way down the stairs in tense silence, Hermione fuming and grumbling the entire descent. She did not wait for them when she stalked to the statue and climbed to the entrance of Slytherin's study. Draco, curious, addressed a raised eyebrow to the remaining Gryffindor while they followed at a more reasonable pace.

"Ron was being his usual egocentric self. I think he pushed her too far this time though..."

"Ah. Anything I can do?"

"Nah... Just don't mention his name unless you want to hear the list of his endless flaws."

"Tempting as it is, I doubt it would help the matter much."

Harry gave him a small chuckle. He did not seem so upset that the two who had been his closest friends since First Year had had a falling out. Then again, Hermione and he had been growing away from the Weasley menace since the beginning of the school year. The confrontation had probably been long overdue.

"She'll calm down, eventually. I would be careful around her for the next few weeks, though, if I were him."

Remembering that humiliating occurrence in Third Year, nodded wisely.

"True, she packs a mean punch!"

They were still snickering when they entered the concealed study.

Hermione was grumbling to herself while scratching notes onto her notebook under the amused eyes of Salazar Slytherin. The boys joined her at the coffee table they had made theirs. Draco wanted to cross-reference some of Salazar Slytherin's findings with a more recent book he had borrowed from the Library during lunch break. It was really fascinating how the savant had attempted to trace back the foundations of magic by experimenting with all kinds of magical animal and vegetal tissues. Many attempts had failed entirely but some had yielded unexpected results which propelled the Founder further on the path to an answer than anyone else in his time. If Draco had to guess, he would say no one had ever managed to get this far since then, or at least they had not advertised it.

He was absorbed in a section on the magical characteristics of blood depending on the power of the donor when Harry spoke for the first time since they had started working again.

"Say. Ron might be wrong when he claims that Draco's the one that cursed me, but if I've been cursed, there's still the question of who did it. Because it definitively happened at Hogwarts, I haven't left the grounds since the trial..."

Hermione glowered at the mention of their former friend but she restrained herself from inserting an acerbic comment on the Weasley boy's opinion. The question Harry raised was valid, and it was surprising they had not considered it before.

"It is indeed a very valid concern, Mister Potter. The curse-breaker you will be meeting with should be able to give you information of the caster of the curse, if they are experienced enough to read aura traces. However, you are wrong to think that the person responsible for your woes necessarily came in contact with you shortly before the appearance of the symptoms. It is entirely possible they cast a differed spell, or they might have enchanted an object that you were later exposed to. If you wish to formulate hypotheses before you have access to Heir Weasley's expertise, I would advise you look for sufficient motive. You do not seem to lack enemies and that self-proclaimed Dark Lord, Voldemort, is probably involved. He certainly is a prime suspect, in any case."

Draco frowned at that. He had not heard anything back from the Dark Lord yet. He was quite certain that the encrypted message he had sent him, camouflaged inside a letter to his mother, had been clear enough that he would have gotten an immediate answer if Lord Voldemort had been at the root of Harry's hardships. At the same time, it was a reasonable assumption on Salazar Slytherin's part. The only other plausible hypothesis he could conjure at the moment was that it was the work of a deranged lone wolf. The notorious Gryffindor boy certainly had his fair number of detractors, especially after the Ministry's hateful smearing campaign the previous year. It was not such a huge stretch to imagine one of them had gone a few steps too far and sent some cursed mail to their hero-turned-devil.

He exposed his thoughts to the others, at least those on an unbalanced and unattached individual being behind the apparent. Harry nodded wisely, commenting that the public often reacted in an irrational or fanatical way to every little crumb of information related to him, but neither Hermione nor Lord Slytherin was convinced. The latter pointed out that most delayed spells were extremely complex and whatever curse was ailing Harry would most assuredly be counted as Dark, even by the more relaxed standards of his time.

The conversation drifted back to the Dark Lord and how and why he might have cursed Harry, making Draco uneasy. He had been enjoying their building friendship, the way they had bonded over shared experiences, growing quietly closer. If he was to be honest with himself, he would have to say that he had affection for Harry in a way he had never had for anyone outside of his family, and he had even come to care about his bright bushy-haired housemate. But the current discussion was reminding him that their companionship was built on a lie. It did not matter how truthfully fond he was of Harry when he had befriended the boy on his master's orders. Their relationship was doomed: if Draco failed to bring Harry to the Dark Lord's side, the powerful wizard would probably order him to murder his friend; if he succeeded, Harry would know that Draco had deceived him and would reject him. Why had he not thought of this before he had let himself grow attached to the Gryffindor boy? Not that he had planned it. The shifting point had probably been that duelling session when he had admitted his father was abusive. It had been a spur of the moment decision. However, he could not come to regret it. He would have never thought that revealing such a weakness to anyone, a former enemy what's more, could give him so much strength. His father's special brand of discipline did not feature in his dreams so often and, when it did, it did not leave him sweating and shivering for long minutes after he woke up. The knowledge that someone else, an outsider, was aware of the cracks behind his Slytherin Prince facade... bolstered him. It made maintaining said front less of a chore, because he now had a place to let go, if he ever truly needed to.

It also made the reality of the situation much more distressing.

His silence had apparently clued Harry that something was upsetting him because the other teenager bumped their knees together and was looking at him with a worried, questioning expression on his face. But Draco was not ready to confess the truth on his initial motivation for seeking Harry's company. Especially not in front of Hermione. He shook his head. Soon, he would have to take a decision, but those ruminations were best kept for a solitary time.

However, his contemplation of the time they had spent together had brought back to his mind an issue he had left aside during the last few days. He still could not explain why Harry did not possess any Heir ring. His mother had answered his enquiries in the negative, she was not aware of any obstacle to the tradition, at least none that would be imperative to the point where parents would renounce having their heir wear the symbolic ring. His cursory search of the library had not revealed any lead and he had pushed the matter to the back of his mind in the light of their more recent concerns about Harry's health. Now seemed a convenient time to bring it up again, though, as they were already planning to abscond Harry away from the school for a few hours. Clearing his throat, he presented the idea to his companions.

"Do you think Weasley would be willing to side-along Harry to Gringotts? It might be the only chance you have to inquire about your missing Heir ring before the end of the school year."

"Missing Heir ring? And what is this Gringotts you keep mentioning?"

As usual, Hermione was the first to speak up to answer Salazar Slytherin's queries.

"Gringotts is the main Wizarding bank and the only one with vaults in Britain. It is run entirely by goblins and many claim it is one of the safest places in the country. They offer a wide range of services in addition to the vaults, including custom-made artefacts and all things related to family lines like wills or inheritances.

As for the Heir ring Draco is referring to, he mentioned a few weeks back that all the Heirs to Pureblood families wore one such ring, though he would, of course, be able to explain in more details, and was extremely surprised Harry did not. I guess you have not found a reason why Harry wouldn't have one then, Draco?"

"No, my mother was not able to help me and it would be delicate for me to ask most of my acquaintances without arising suspicion. The goblins should have elements of answer, in any case, as they are the ones who usually provide the rings. They should at least be able to tell you whether your parents ordered one and, if they did, what happened to it."

Harry looked torn between curiosity, especially as it was related to his deceased parents, and exhaustion at the mere idea of the added task.

"I could come with you, if you don't feel like facing them alone. I understand it can be a bit daunting to interact with them, especially on House matters, when you have not been trained to. I used to be properly terrified by the goblin in charge of my family fortune, not that I was allowed to show it."

The confession had slipped through his lips naturally before Draco could even realise he was digging his own grave again. He really should stop deepening their bond with personal information until he had decided whether to tell Harry about his assignment by the Dark Lord or not. He could not take it back, however. He rather liked the grateful half-smile flashing on Harry's face, too.

"I don't think Bill would be able to Side-along the two of you, though, Draco, even if he was willing to take you to Gringotts, which remains to be seen."

Draco rolled his eyes.

"He wouldn't have to. I have been able to Apparate on my own since Third Year."

"But it's forbidden to without a licence!"

"And I'm sure you have realised how much credit old families give to Ministry regulations, after all this time?"

Hermione's skin darkened, though he could not determine if it was in embarrassment or in anger at the obvious disregard for the law. He was aware that she could not help her sometime annoying propensity to uphold rules no matter what, it was a deeply ingrained trait of her personality. She was able to overcome it when her friends were concerned, though, as shown by her presence in the taboo Chamber of Secrets.

"There's no chance Ron's going to help us with Bill, though, now. We'll have to wing it and hope he helps us... I'm not sure how he'll react to your presence. He and Charlie've always been the more open-minded ones of the bunch, with the twins of course, but there's no telling what he'll think of us being friends."

"Would you rather I stay away, then?"

"No!"

Harry was glaring at him. His denial echoed, indignant, in the small room. Salazar Slytherin's old portrait seemed to be rather entertained by their conversation, as he commented in a slightly paternalistic but wistful manner:

"Ah, you young people certainly liven my time... You cannot envision how tedious existence is with animated puppets for sole companions."

They all glanced at him but there was not much to be said. Despite all the help he could provide with his extensive knowledge and the wonderful legacy of his research, the man was long dead and condemned to a pseudo-life as a portrait. Not for the first time since he was a child, Draco was unnerved by the cruelty of magical portraiting: it gave paintings life and emotions but not the liberty to enjoy them.

Harry was the one to break the awkward silence.

"I'm not going to let Bill shun you because of who your parents are. You can't pick your own family, I know a thing or two about that. Anyway, if he objects to you being there, I'll just tell him to stuff it and that I wouldn't even have thought of a curse if it weren't for you. Plus, you know how to explain that stuff to me, and if I went alone I'd probably come back more confused than anything. I've never heard the goblins being praised for their pedagogical capacities."

Draco understood that Harry's stark refusal was about more than just him coming with to meet Bill. It came from the deep frustration Harry arboured against the wizarding world which was, in the Muggle-raised heir's mind, bigoted from all sides and entirely too involved in his life, including in who he was spending time with.

"I'll join you, then, don't worry about it."

* * *

Sunday, 3rd November 1996, 8 pm  
Sixth Year Dormitories, Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts

Harry had gone to sleep early. After more than a month of the same routine, it did not surprise his housemates anymore. He looked like death warmed up most morning anyways, so they were more likely to push him to get even more sleep than to insist he stayed for another round of Exploding Snap or to debate the latest piece of gossip.

He had already been through his evening routine, brushing his teeth and changing to his pyjamas -new comfy ones in Gryffindor red that Mrs Weasley had bought for him when she had gone to buy school supplies for her children because she had not trusted the Wizarding Child and Family Affairs to think of little comforts like this. In the quiet of the empty dormitory, he was slowly slipping into sleep, warm under his heavy duvet, protected from the world by the drawn bed curtains.

He did not hear the door creak open, nor did he pay attention to the soft noises of one of his roommates preparing for bed. That was why, when whoever was in the room called his name, it took his brain more than a few seconds to catch up.

"Harry?"

The whisper was definitively Ron's. Harry considered feigning sleep but he did not want to hurt the other teen by ignoring him. For some reason, probably because it was too damn tiring, Harry did not feel angry or frustrated with Ron anymore. He just felt... detached. Yes, that was a good description of his emotions regarding his former best mate. He did not wish him ill but neither was he willing to go out of his way for him. He had grieved the end of their friendship but he did not expect he would ever be able to count on Ron again, not after he had walked all over his fragile trust so many times.

So he answered without rolling over to face his roommate or opening the curtains, doing his best to keep his voice as neutral as possible.

"Yes, Ron?"

"I... I just wanted to tell you that I know what an awful friend I'm being this year, I'm not even sure I deserve to call myself your friend. I don't expect you to forgive me, but, for what it's worth, I'm sorry. I don't know why I keep getting mad at shit the way I do, but that's not your fault, it's pretty much only mine and I don't think I'm going to be able to control this jealousy thing of mine around you anytime time soon, so... Just, yeah, I'm sorry, that's what I wanted to say."

Ron let out a long, melancholic sigh and Harry wondered if he was done.

"'Night, Harry."

"'Night, Ron."

Despite the sadness of the moment, Harry felt a bit better about all of it, as if he had needed for Ron to also acknowledge the change between them. He fell asleep with the thought that meals and classes would be a lot let tense from that day on.


	18. The goblins

Saturday, 9 November 1996, 9 am  
Entrance Hall, Hogwarts

Hermione was standing on the side in the Entrance Hall, waiting for Neville and Luna to join her and Harry, who was staying right behind her under his invisibility cloak. They were both itching to leave school grounds and confirm that Dumbledore had not added a localised alarm on Harry's bracelet. The possibility had been raised by Hermione while they were finalising their strategy to get rid of Moody for the day -Hermione owed a Ravenclaw Third Year fifty hours of tutoring for arranging with their uncle who worked at the Department of International Magical Cooperation that all decorated Aurors be summoned for a meet-and-greet ceremony on the occasion of the visit of the Australian Minister of Magic. It was one of the only two big unknowns in their plan: that and Bill's reaction.

She noticed Luna skipping down the steps. Only Neville left then. She would have preferred not to need them, if only because the more people were aware of Harry's whereabouts the likelier it was one of them would slip, but Harry and she trusted them and it would seem weird if she was to walk to Hogsmeade by herself. They had planned to start the day with a few ordinary visits to the usual shops. Harry would have to wait outside if the stores were too crowded but he had said he did not mind. After that, they would find the small inn where they had a room booked. Draco was supposed to wait for them there after he ditched his own entourage. They were apparently used to him meeting his parents during Hogsmeade weekends, so he did not expect any questions but had still prepared a story in case one of his housemates asked where he was going. After that, they would present the issue to Bill and hope he was not overly angry at them for tricking him. Hermione believed even if he was, his concern for Harry would win over. She might not know the eldest Weasley very well, but the few times she had seen him, he had seemed protective of his younger siblings, and by association, their friends, without being overbearing about it like Mrs Weasley could be. Just thinking about the sermon they would get if the Weasley matriarch got wind of their expedition had her fidgeting.

When Neville finally joined them, after nearly all the other students had left for the village, he was out-of-breath and had to take of few moments before he managed to speak.

"I'm really sorry, some Slytherins got me in the hallway on my way here, they made it look like I had trashed an armour just as Filch was walking into the corridor. I've got to serve two hours of detention polishing the damned suits. I've only managed to come warn you by skiving while he was chasing after Peeves, I probably should run back there already! Sorry again, good luck with your meeting!"

With one last apologetic look, he was rushing up the main stairs again.

"Well, I guess it's just you and me, then, Luna," Hermione said, despite the knot forming in her stomach as they were deviating from what they had planned before even leaving the school.

Luna gave her a wide smile in response and linked their arms together. As they left the hall they were careful to leave enough space between them and the door frame so Harry could sneak out at the same time. The walk to Hogsmeade was spent discussing Hermione's alleged career interrogations as well as Luna's thoughts on her own professional future. The Ravenclaw was set on joining the family business after graduating, something her House Head fully encouraged because he did not believe she would enjoy a more mundane job. She also wanted to open a sanctuary for endangered magical animals but Hermione was not convinced all of the creatures she mentioned existed. She did not want to make Luna feel looked down upon, her harsh classmates did that often enough, so she refrained from commenting.

The shops were already packed with excited students when they arrived in Hogsmeade. By joint agreement, they headed for the less popular stationery store to stock up on inks and parchment. Hermione let Luna browse the selection of engraved quills while she looked at the passer-byes through the window. They had some time to kill before going to meet Draco and Bill, and the bookshop was probably the only other place not assaulted by hordes of students. She had promised Harry they would no go there, as she was known to lose track of time when surrounded by books and he was afraid they would end up late. Despite the need to check on her concealed friend, Hermione refrained from whispering his name or feeling around. She knew that it was very unlikely anyone would notice her odd behaviour but she did not want to take any chance. Soon enough they would be safely ensconced in the private room Draco had booked in her name. She dearly hoped Bill would accept to scan Harry and that there would be an easy cure to whatever malicious spell was messing with her friend's magic and health. If not, Draco and she had devised a backup plan but it was flimsy at best. Since Draco knew how to Apparate, he would bring Harry to Gringotts himself. There, the wizard-raised teenager was confident they could arrange for a private Healer to examine her housemate if they offered a sufficient amount of money to the goblins. They had not mentioned this alternative to Harry because they knew he would be strongly opposed to it: the wizards and witches present at the bank were certain to recognise the Malfoy heir and would probably report him for underage Apparition. In addition to this, without Bill to vouch for them, Harry would probably have to reveal himself to the bank tellers in public and there was absolutely no chance the information would not make it back to the school. It was, all in all, a terrible plan but it was the best they had in case Bill rejected them, as they had agreed they could not let the opportunity of having brought Harry out of school grounds go to waste, his health was continuing to deteriorate from the continual magical exhaustion.

They left the shop and started walking toward the inn shortly before eleven. Despite the rather bright weather, the wind was bitter enough that they had to tighten their cloaks and scarfs around them. Luckily they soon turned into a side alley where the buildings blocked the breeze. Their destination was on the edge of the village, a quaint but neat squat edifice from which whispers of instrumental music escaped. Hermione tried to peer through the windows as they rounded the building but despite the warm light coming out of them, the glass appeared opaque and one could not distinguish the inside. Luna was the one to push the door open and Hermione waited a moment before she stepped in, in the wake of Harry's hidden form. They were immediately greeted by a diminutive wizard with a formidable ginger moustache and a strong French accent. As instructed by Draco, Hermione only stated that they were expected by Mr Malfoy, which left her feeling slightly awkward, as it really sounded like the two girls were having a secret meeting with Draco's father. Their host promptly led them to a sitting room decorated in cheerful but gracious colours. He waited politely while they exchanged quick greetings with Draco before enquiring for their drinks orders. Luna ordered a big pot of black tea for them all, probably thinking it would be easier to share with Harry than if they asked for individual drinks, while Draco took advantage of the opportunity to ask for a refill of his cinnamon chocolate. They settled in to wait for Bill, talking about their respective thoughts on Slytherin's research. Harry's presence was only revealed by a dip in the sofa upholstery next to Luna, who was occasionally contributing to the conversation with baffling statements -either because Hermione had no idea what she was talking about or because she had insightful comments about texts she had not even read- but seemed generally content to hum under her breath and look around the room. The owner of the inn came back after a few minutes followed by a tray carrying their beverages and enchanted to float behind him, as well as the eldest Weasley. The tall man did a double-take when he noticed Luna and Draco in the room but nevertheless removed his cloak and ordered a drink as if their attendance was nothing unexpected when Hermione directed a reassuring smile at him. The moment the door closed behind the proprietor, however, he turned toward her with a raised eyebrow, clearing demanding an explanation.

"I'm sorry I had to ambush you but we need your help. Would you mind waiting until he comes back with your Butterbeer before I explain? There's something we need to show you and we'd rather not let him know..."

The curse-breaker obviously did mind, but after a suspicious sweep of the room, with a long stare at Draco and his relaxed stance, he nodded. They sat there in silence as they waited to be free to talk.

* * *

Saturday, 9 November 1996, 11 am  
Jean-Michel's Amicable Auberge, Hogsmeade, Scotland

When Bill had his glass in hands and Draco had signalled them that the room was now really private, Harry shrugged his cloak, glad to be able to finally get rid of the freezing garment and greeted Bill with a lopsided smile.

"Hi, Bill. I'm glad to see you."

The thin wizard spluttered on his drink and had to cough several times before he could answer. Luna patted his back commiseratingly, Hermione glared at Harry for not waking until he had put his glass back down and Draco looked thoroughly unimpressed with the display. Luckily, the latter held his tongue.

"Harry! What are you doing here? No, wait, what are you all doing here? And why were you hiding under your invisibility cloak, if you want a partner-in-crime for some mischief you got the wrong brother, it's the twins you want!"

"Does survival count as a mischief?"

Luna had asked her question in her usual airy voice but Bill, not being used to her, stared at her like she had grown a second head. Hermione quickly jumped in to do some damage control, because, between his own startling appearance and Luna's singular way to formulate things, it looked like things were going to go south fast.

"As Luna just said, Harry needs your help because we think his life - or at least his magic, but the two are rather linked - is in danger. Since Dumbledore is still playing god Harry couldn't leave the school, had least not openly. But he hasn't been able to perform magic at all in four days now, and the weeks before that his control and power levels have been completely unpredictable but distinctly decreasing. He keeps passing out because of magical exhaustion but Madam Pomfrey never does anything more than feeding him some core restoration potion. She claims its puberty but after doing some research we believe he might have been cursed. Would you agree to check him out?"

"And Malfoy is here because... ?"

"Because he is my friend."

Harry's tone left no room for discussion. Bill's eyebrows shot up at the declaration but he refrained from questioning them further on the topic.

"I don't know folks, I'd like to be able to help you but I'm not really authorised to examine humans for curses... My work's more about object and buildings. What you need is a Healer, Harry, one that is more specialised than Poppy I guess if she did not detect anything. Though I'm surprised she did not refer you to one already if things have been as bad as you said."

Harry was opening his mouth to defend himself in front of Bill's obvious doubts but Hermione beat him to it.

"What are you implying? Do you really believe we would have asked you were just for a prank or something? Madam Pomfrey has never noticed nor reported the glaring marks of abuse in all the time Harry's been under her care. Just this summer, she gave him a full bottle of an extremely potent sleeping potion, left him unsupervised with it when he had just gone through a traumatic event and did not even bother to ask it back after he should have stopped taking it! So don't you dare suggest that we are overreacting because if there was cause for worry she would have taken care of him!"

Hermione was seething and Bill was shrinking slightly under her glare. If Harry had to bet, he would guess she reminded the Weasley man of his mother. Molly Weasley was really a force of nature!

Draco played the diplomat this time, before the frustrated witch could carry on with her sermon.

"Are there some general scans you could run without risk for Harry? If you do not detect anything abnormal we will accept that we are overreacting and apologise for wasting your time."

The loaded look exchanged by his two year-mates did not escape Harry's notice. He doubted they would really let the matter rest if Bill indeed found him healthy and strong, but he was not eager to know what they had planned for the instance of the curse-breaker refusing to help them. If they had not broached the subject before it was probably because they knew he would object. In any case, it was a smart move from Draco because there was no way his magic would appear normal to any scan cast by the older man. He had not been able to summon even a sliver of power for days!

"Oh right, but I am only agreeing because I _do_ trust you kids not to joke with such a serious matter."

He emphasised his statement of confidence with a pointed look to Hermione, who stared right back at him in a show of defiance. It seemed that the grudge his friend held against the youngest Weasley male was extending to the rest of the family...

"Can you stand there Harry, please? It will be easier to read the results of the scan."

Bill was pointing to a clear section of the floor outside of the loose circle of seats with his wand, having himself stood up from his armchair. Harry complied sluggishly as he had been getting comfortable in the cosy sofa.

"I am going to start with a very general health scan, taught to any Gringotts worker doing field work in case we have to perform first aid on a colleague or ourselves. You should not feel the magic working but you might hear a disagreeable whistling sound. It's perfectly normal."

A few wand movements and mumbled incantations later, Harry was glowing from head to toes in blotches of multicoloured lights. The results were apparently deeply troubling to the adult wizard as he recast the spell, only to obtain the exact same outcome.

"You were right about his magical burnout and general exhaustion. But I think you left out part of the story, didn't you? Harry, care to tell me why you appear as a literal mass of physical traumas? And please don't bother to lie by claiming you've been a bit too hard on yourself during Quidditch training, I know for a fact you are not playing this year, Ron has complained enough about that..."

From the stern expression Bill sported, there was no way for Harry to elude the question. They had not anticipated the fact that Bill would cast healing spells rather than purely curse-detection scans. Harry was not sure what reaction to expect from the ginger man, would he drop the subject because he would consider Dumbledore or the Ministry worker knew what they were doing or would he be outraged on Harry's behalf? None of his friends was provided much support, Draco's face was frighteningly blank, Hermione had gone from anger to slight guilt and Luna was surveying the scene was a mild satisfied smile - maybe she thought it was a good thing that Bill had found out about the moderate injuries he still sustained from his last bi-weekly duelling training. Nevertheless, he begged them with his eyes to take over the explanations. He did not want to sound like he was begging for pity but he did not have the strength to pretend he did not mind... Thankfully Draco came to his rescue:

"Did your brother not brag about getting Dumbledore to organise additional classes for Harry? Moody has been beating him up twice a week under the pretext of _duelling lessons_. Apparently, the Ministry idiots were frightened enough by the possibility of me influencing their precious Chosen One to let Dumbledore bully them into sanctioning abuse!"

Harry had never loved a sneer on his Slytherin friend's face so much as at this moment. It dripped disdain for the former Headmaster and the foolish officials who had let themselves be manipulated by him. It was a pity Bill did not seem to appreciate it, maybe because he thought it directed at him or possibly because of the jab at his brother.

"What do you mean my brother got Dumbledore to set additional classes for Harry? I assume you are talking about Ron? What was he thinking, isn't Dumbledore banned from the school and from contacting Harry?"

Sensing that the details would be better received coming from her, Hermione took over the explanation.

"I'm sorry if you did not hear it from him but he has been acting like a spoiled brat since the beginning of the year. He was jealous of the time Harry was spending with Draco and instead of asking to join, he went to Dumbledore about it. Even now he is still convinced that Draco is planning something nefarious, but his only arguments are that he is a Slytherin and his father is a Death Eater. He is the same as at the start of the Triwizard Tournament but this time I don't think we will reconcile. As for Dumbledore, as Draco stated, he managed to trick both the Ministry and Professor McGonagall into agreeing to additional training for Harry, three evenings with Professor Snape and one with Professor Moody, plus the entire Saturday. Of course, he did not tell them that the training in question would consist of firing hexes and mild curses without respite while forbidding Harry to defend himself. He would not be able to anyway since his power has dwindled to almost nonexistence. Ah, and he forced a Portkey on him, too, but that's almost kind compared to the training part.

"He... He did not mention anything like that. And Dumbledore didn't either, at the O- when he visited. I can't believe those ministry workers in charge of you, Harry, agreed with that bullshit. No, Hermione, I do actually believe you, don't get on your high horses, I just meant... That's some crazy sick shit! Wait until I see Dumbledore again, I'll tell him what I think if his interference with your life and the way he treats teenagers! And Mum is going to go ballistic, both on him and Ron. He'll be hearing from me too!"

Harry interrupted Bill's furious rant with an awkward cough before he could storm out of the room to confront one of the culprits himself.

"Actually, Bill, I'd really appreciate it if you could keep all this to yourself. I'm sure you mean well but I don't think you have any chance to get Dumbledore to backtrack when the Office of Social Whatever and the Ministry himself are supporting him. We'll all get into huge trouble if he learns that I left the school and it will all have been for nothing. Plus, if you tell your mother she'll make a scandal out of it, not that the old geezer does not deserve it, but I'd rather not bring attention to myself right now. Sorry, I know I'm putting you in a difficult position..."

"Do not apologise for something you have no control over, Harry, and especially not for being unable to trust the adults who are supposed to take care of you. It really upsets me that you are continuously betrayed by those you should be able to rely on, but I respect that the stakes are a lot more complex than I'm aware of and that you are old enough to take responsibility for your life, so I'll make you a deal. I'll do the other main scans to look for foreign magic on you and if I find anything that could be life-threatening, I'll be taking you to Saint Mungo. If not we'll just act as if nothing happened, though you will have to forgive me if I owl you healing potions on a regular basis from now on. Do that sound reasonable to you?"

"Oh, would you agree to Apparate him to Gringotts, if you decide he needs to be examined by a specialised Healer? I have discovered that he is not wearing his Heir ring, he did not even know what it was or that he was supposed to have one. We rather hoped the goblins would be able to shed light on that and I'm sure they would not mind renting us a room and providing us with a suitable Healer if we offered monetary compensation."

Bill looked like he was trying hard not to show amusement.

"You do know the way to a goblin's heart... I guess I could do that. I can only Side-Along one of you, though, so if I take Harry you will have to remain here."

"Draco can Apparate."

The declaration surprised them all. The three Sixth Years had not discussed that part of the plan with the younger girl so they were taken aback that she knew about the Slytherin's illegal transportation abilities.

"How... Forget about it, it doesn't matter. I still cannot appear with two underage wizards at my side, it would be obvious one of you Apparated by himself, it takes a lot more power than what I have to Side-Along several people at the same time, especially if they do not know how to Apparate themselves."

"Harry will be under his cloak. We do not want anyone to know he is out of Hogwarts, remember? It will look like you Side-Alonged me and no one else."

"You really have thought it all out, haven't you?"

Bill half-glared at them, pretending to be annoyed, but he did not comment on the smug look Hermione and Draco shared. It seemed that despite the rocky passage, their plan would work in the end.

"Ok, then, Harry, for the next spell I need you to remain very still, it might tickle but try your best not to react, it would blur the reading."

Harry nodded and prepared himself for the foreign magic. He felt a barely-there whisper over his skin from the top of his head going downward. Until it reached his waist and forearms he could not understand Bill's warning. But the sensation unexpectedly increased from a murmur to fire ants crawling under his skin in the few centimetres preceding his right wrist. He nearly jumped in place and started to move to scratch the awful feeling but the ginger caster called out a brisk "Don't," and he forced himself to remain motionless.

Thankfully the feeling receded after a few more seconds as the initial tingling sensation shifted lower on his body. All of them waited in tensed silence for the curse-breaker to finish his scan. This time, no results were visible to the bystanders so Bill had to explain his findings to the teenagers.

"I did not detect any foreign signature on you, but, Harry, it looks as if all of your magic is concentrated in your right wrist."

The two Gryffindor youngs paled and Harry hitched his sleeve up to show said wrist to the adult wizard.

"That's where I wear Dumbledore's bracelet."

One could have heard a pin drop in the stillness that followed, as everyone tried to process the implications. Bill recovered first, probably because he was used to being confronted with the unexpected as part of his job, and stepped forward to take Harry's hand in his own. He did not give an introduction to his scan this time. He simply aimed his wand at the artefact and launched into a series of complicated wand movements. Nothing had appeared or changed when he stopped, leaving the students to stare at him.

"Dumbledore gave you this?"

"More like he shackled me with it, but yeah. It's a Portkey."

"This is not a Portkey. Or it might be, but it's irrelevant. I'm taking you to Gringotts. Put that cloak of yours on. Do you still want Malfoy to come with?"

Harry nodded decisively, more than a bit off-balance due to Bill's sudden grave mood. He slipped his cloak on and clung to the curse-breaker's offered arm. In contrast, Draco had only lain his hand lightly over it, just enough to let the older wizard guide him to there destination.

Without any sort of warning or goodbyes to the two girls they were leaving behind, Bill clasped his wand and they were sucked into a dark vacuum. The pressure was next to unbearable, crushing Harry from all parts. It felt as if his organs would explode from the squeezing force, he could not inhale nor move. There were no sound, no light, no smell, nothing. Harry could panic rise in his chest as he tried to find his bearings in the constricting emptiness. And then, as quickly as they had entered it, they were spat out of the Apparition space into a plain stone hall. Bill immediately removed his arm from them hold and was out of the room before his instructions had stopped echoing against the walls:

"Stay here and if anyone asks, tell them you are under my responsibility."

The minutes ticked by slowly as they waited. Harry wished he was able to speak with Draco, exchange of few jokes to dispel the tension and stop his mind from coming up with scenarios each more catastrophic than the last.

When Bill came back, he was followed by three particularly sullen looking goblins. Their uniforms and insignias distinguished them from the tellers Harry was used to seeing in the bank but did not give him any information on their specific roles other than a hint they were of different status.

"Draco, Chief Nagnok, Healer Hodrod and Craft-Master Ug will take you to an examination room. I'm afraid I cannot accompany you but you can trust them entirely."

The last was said with the pointed loo to where he had left Harry standing after the Apparition, which the boy understood as a covert way to indicate he could reveal himself once they reached the examination room.

With a barked command to follow and a disdainful stare at Draco, the goblins marched out of the room. Harry fell into step with them so Draco could close the cortege and protect his cover. They walked down a long corridor under the light of blazing torches. The atmosphere was much less grandiose than the entrance hall or the vaults caves of the bank. The walls were bare, constructions of dark brown stone, and a damp smell clung to them despite how drafty the place was. Harry was relieved when they finally stopped in front of a heavy wooden door which looked entirely identical to the previous ones to his eyes.

The room they entered was drastically different. The walls, ceiling, and floor were built exclusively of pure white marble covered in dense runic scriptures written in what appeared to be gold. The overall effect was breathtaking, Harry lost himself in the sight, until a harsh order broke his trance.

"Strip."

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. He had been really taken with the golden scribbles following them from under his feet to the walls to over their heads... He had pushed back the others and the reason they were there to the back of his mind. But now it was obvious the goblins were getting impatient, Draco just looked embarrassed, or maybe he looked cold and distant to their hosts but Harry knew better. When the Slytherin teen kept searching the air with his eyes, Harry realized he was looking for him and that he should probably show himself to the goblins. Obviously, Bill had not been able to warn them that he was present under an invisibility cloak.

Tensing in anticipation of the dour goblins' reaction, he shrugged the cloak hiding him. Their eyes immediately zeroed on him and they threw their hands out in an aggressive manner. Harry rushed to explain:

"I'm the one Bill has brought here to scan. I just couldn't risk anyone seeing me out in the bank. Draco is here for support. I'm sorry, we did not want to trick you or anything."

One by one, they lowered their hands. They were still glaring hardly at him and Harry had to hold back from fidgeting under their stares. He was not sure what else he could say to appease them. He remained silent, alternating between peeking at them to check if they had moved and peering at his feet. The standoff lasted several long minutes, during which he wondered if he had somehow offended them to a point of no return -but surely Draco would have said something, and if they were waiting for him to do or say something specific. One of the goblins, the one Bill had introduced as a Healer, had crossed his arms over his chest. Harry felt they were growing impatient but they were at an impasse because he had no idea what they expected of him. Unless... They had ordered Draco to strip before they were aware of his presence, maybe they reckoned he would follow the instruction as he was the one they were here for.

Tentatively, he undid the buttons of his robes, keeping his eyes on the goblins. He seemed to read a minimal node of approval from the smallest one, Chief Nagnok if he remembered well, so he felt more assured as he removed the garment off his shoulders. When he was down to his boxers he stopped. He was surprised to realise that he did not feel cold. The room temperature had maybe adapted to his state of undress, but then the others would have looked uncomfortable from the warmth. He turned to the Healer expectantly, but the diminutive creature was still frozen in the same disapproving stance. Harry sighed. He did not think he was particularly shy about his body but even after years in a boarding school with shared showers, he was still self-conscious when naked around others. It was something he had discussed more than once with Neville and Seamus, who shared the same issue. They had guessed it had to do with growing as single children and not surrounded by siblings. Turning around for a semblance of privacy, he shed his last piece of clothing and set it down with the rest. No sooner had he done so than the pile of fabric disappeared.

"Hey!"

His uncouth exclamation of indignation finally broke them out of their sullen, judgemental immobility. The Chief, the one who had already nodded to him to indicate he had to remove his underpants, spoke up to explain.

"Your clothing has been imbued in magic. It would interfere with the procedure. They will be returned to you before you leave this room. If you are wearing any other removable accessory, they need to be taken off as well."

"Harry, your glasses."

Harry frowned in response to Draco's suggestion. His glasses were entirely Muggle, else they would not break so often. He did not see how they could disturb the magic the goblins were about to perform.

"You have been repairing them regularly, have you not? They are probably only held together by magic, at least they look this way. On a side note, expect to be dragged to the Occulist as soon as we can go shopping together. They are a disgrace."

Disgruntled because he had to admit Draco was right on both points, he begrudgingly handed his glasses to his classmate.

"Stand."

This command was followed by the Healer pointing his short, spiny finger towards a circular motif drawn by the rune on the floor. Really, could the man, or rather goblin -did they even have the same genders as humans? -Not ask nicely? Was it truly so difficult to treat their patient politely?

He shuffled to the designated space, uncomfortable under their gazes. At least Draco was looking at a far away point above his head. He felt very vulnerable, standing naked in front of a public. Who knew what judging thoughts were running behind those austere facades? Especially since his body was not a treat to look at: he had always been too scrawny to start with, and on top of it, he now looked sickly and battered from the combined effects of Moody's _tutorings_ and the illness or curse he was suffering from.

The Healer stepped slightly closer to him while the other two retreated to a corner of the room, gesturing to Draco to follow suit. In their harsh language, the dour goblin started to chant something that appeared to awaken the runes all over the marble. Harry tried to follow the song, which seemed to repeat itself over and over again, but the runes were calling to him, their own melody overcoming that of the Healer, their shimmers catching his eyes and soothing him. He felt himself begin to slide under their influence and he approved heartfully of their promise of peace and safety.


	19. The unwelcome revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to WeepingBadWolf for betaing this chapter :)

Saturday, 9 November 1996, 12 am  
Healing chamber #11, Gringotts, London

Harry came to abruptly. He was still standing, immobile, amid the golden runes. The inscriptions had fallen quiet again, to his great regret. He could not remember what had happened to him while he was under their power except for a general sensation of well-meaning warmth. Not what he would he imagine goblin magic to be at all...

Their three hosts, on the other hand, were conferring furiously on the other side of the room.

His clothes must have reappeared while he was under the spell of the runes because Draco was at his side, holding them out to him, whispering in a concerned voice:

"Are you okay?"

Still slightly spaced from the trance-like experience, Harry hummed back a confirmation and grabbed the bundle of fabric. His friend had to stabilise him several times as he stumbled around trying to slip his clothes back on. He kept his cloaks, both the invisibility one and his woollen regular one, balled up in his arms.

Just as he slipped his shoes on, the craft goblin broke from their argument and left the room in a hurry. The other two short creatures shared a few more sentences in their strange language before approaching the two teenagers. Again, the Chief was the one to address Harry, as the only way the Healer appeared to be able to interact with humans was to bark orders.

"We will relocate to a conference room before we explain our results to you. The security of the room will not tolerate you concealing yourself under the Invisibility Cloak but you can walk our hallways with no fear. We do not divulge the secrets of our clients."

Harry glanced at Draco for confirmation, and as the Pureblood heir nodded, gave his agreement to the goblin.

The conference room had obviously been designed to impress. Harry could not care less for the opulent furniture, he was just anxious to know what the goblins had found. Was Dumbledore's bracelet really responsible for his issues with his power? Despite the events of the last few months and the realisation that the old Headmaster had known about the abuse all along, it was difficult to imagine the grandfatherly wizard being directly responsible for the collapse of Harry's energy and magical levels. Then again, there was no way to qualify Moody's treatment of him as anything else than violent and inappropriate. But to attack his magic? Wasn't Dumbledore still holding on the idea that Harry was fated to defeat Voldemort with some secret power? How was Harry supposed to that without magic? Not that he had any idea how he was supposed to do it _with_ magic, anyway...

Harry sat down in one of the upholstered armchairs next to his Slytherin friend. The round table was far too big for their small group, especially as the goblins, Craft-Master included, had settled opposite to them. The matter was not helped by the forever antagonistic expressions of Gringotts staff. Without Draco by his side, Harry would have felt like he was back standing in front of the Wizengamot because Umbridge had sent Dementors to Little Wining. He took a few deep breaths to try and settle his nerves but he could still hear his blood beating loudly in his ears and feel the cold trickle of sweat down his back.

"What has Mr Weasley told you?"

"Not much, to be honest. What's wrong with me? Does it have anything to do with the bracelet?"

Draco put a comforting hand on his forearm, something that would have upset him greatly coming from almost anyone else, but actually, it settled him a tiny little bit. He was not alone.

"Indeed, the bracelet you are wearing is entirely responsible for the abnormal fluctuations in your magical levels. It is imbued with a leech curse, which feeds on your power. The magic is channelled to the one who spelt the artefact. This curse was historically used to harvest magic from one's slaves, a disgusting practice, one that has of course been long overruled. Because of the additional spellwork, in particular, the Portkey weaved around the main curse, we cannot offer to remove the bracelet from your person. You would immediately be Portkeyed away to a location of your attacker's choice, or if you are surrounded by anti-magical transportation wards, the bracelet would exhaust your core trying to break them. We can, however, support you in bringing whoever is involved in this violation of your integrity to court."

What did they mean, they couldn't remove it? They had to take it off, they had to!

His breath and heart rate took off as Harry struggled to tear the thing from his wrist. It was too narrow, he could not get it off, despite his fingers scrambling frantically around it, his nails catching on skin as much as metal. He tried to crush his hand against the table so it would be narrow enough to pry the evil jewellery away, to no avail. Why wouldn't the trinket just come off!

"Breathe, Harry, breathe!"

The voice sounded distant in his ears and it echoed weirdly against the sides of his head. His body was moving, shaking, but not on his own accord, at least not from any conscious decision, something was holding his hands down and apart but he had to get rid of the constricting band around his wrist, it was going to cut his hand off, did whoever was constraining him not understand that? He tried to struggle but his muscles felt like jelly. He suddenly realised that he could not see anymore, his vision was overcome by dark blurry spots, was it the bracelet too, was it driving him mad or stealing away his body like it had stolen his magic?

He heard the slap before he felt it, the resounding sound of skin against flesh, his head whipped around by the force of the impact. The warm turning to pain in his cheek. What?

"Mr Potter?"

"Harry?"

"Urgh..."

He felt... empty, washed out. He could feel the burn radiating from his face, from the blow on his left cheek and from embarrassment every else. He had just had a panic attack, there was no other word to describe it, and now three unsociable goblins and his forever-composed Slytherin friend were probably looking at him with pity or annoyance while he tried to compose himself. He wanted to disappear, to pretend that as long as he did not open his eyes they would not really exist, but he knew otherwise.

Thankfully, they gave him time to gather himself. He could even hear the rough tone of Gobbledegook a few meters away. It was considerate of the goblins to give him some space, though maybe they just had some urgent matters to discuss. Draco, on the other hand, was standing close to him: Harry could feel the slight warmth of his body against his flank, a silent support.

One tear leaked through his eyelids. A tear of physical exhaustion and mental weariness. Harry clenched his lids tighter so the flood of emotions that he was trying desperately to restrain would not get the upper hand again. Deep breaths. Now was not the time to crack, he would be free to cry and scream against the world all he wanted once he was back behind the closed curtains of his bed. With the accursed bracelet, a final betrayal from the man he had regarded as his mentor during his first years in the Wizarding World.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he got the scorching, bulbing mass in his chest under control, to the point where he did not feel like it was going to blow a hole through his ribcage or liquify his insides. He was not really ready to open his eyes yet and to face the judgement of those present, but he swallowed his pride and called on his much-publicised Gryffindor courage to do so.

To his surprise, a number of vials had made their appearance on the table in front of him during his meltdown. As soon as the Healer goblin noticed his opened eyes, he gestured to the one closer to his side of the furniture and ordered him to drink. After having trusted them enough to stand naked in a room full of runes, Harry saw no reason to doubt their intentions now so he grabbed the flask and downed it. The glacial texture of the potion soothed his parched throat, followed by a blanket of placidity that settled over the dark ball of feelings in his chest. A Calming Draught then. One he had never encountered before. The ones distributed at Hogwarts all had this terrible greasy aftertaste that was blessedly absent this time.

When he brought his gaze back to the waiting goblins, he was not on the verge of a mental breakdown anymore. He was still aware of his feelings, but they were distant, unimportant. The Healer pointed to the other vials in between them, which appeared to be divided into two groups despite the fact that they looked exactly identical to Harry.

"General healing draught. One every night. Core replenisher. One after significant expanses of magic. Never before. Understand?"

From the doubtful expression on the goblin's face, Harry guessed he must believe him to be at least a bit dense, but he nodded, trying not to be offended. However, the set of medicine brought forward a question he had relegated to the back of his mind until that moment. He thought it was better to ask it now, even if it might make him look like a fool, rather than wait until they left and risk not being able to get his answer later.

"Thank you. How can I pay you for all this?"

The astonished -and clearly offended looks on the goblins' part- looks he got from everyone around the table made him reconsider his decision. Out of his depth, he turned to Draco, begging him with his eyes to make up for his blunder, whatever it was.

"It is understood that they will collect their fee directly from your vaults, Harry. They know how much you own and would never offer a service that you would not be able to repay. This is usually how Gringotts and Pureblood Houses deal with private services. They would have brought the issue of expenses up before anything else if they had not relied on your implicit agreement to the system. I apologise, I should have anticipated and explained it to you."

The last sentence was whispered, obviously meant for Harry's ears only, unlike the first part of the Slytherin's explanation where he had made sure the goblins could hear and draw their own conclusion on Harry's naive but well-meaning question.

Damn. Out of all topics to offend goblins about, money was the worst, and of course, he had to put his foot in his mouth while trying to do exactly the contrary.

Before he could stammer out a clumsy apology, however, the goblin Chief spoke up, effectively closing the subject.

"Cursebreaker Weasley has informed us that you had additional concerns related to Heir rings? Craft-Master Ug is in charge of Wizarding Houses artefacts and will answer your questions as long as they fall under Gringotts authority."

Harry was impressed that they had gotten the head of their corresponding department to help him. He had been under the impression that goblins were famous for enjoying making wizards feel like they were not worth their time. Maybe, as they had been under the impression that Draco was the one requiring their expertise, they had judged the Malfoy name deserved the best, or maybe Bill's introduction was to thank for their premium treatment...

In any case, Harry did not think it could hurt thanking them for it before he addressed the Craft-Master directly.

"Thank you for your help. We were mainly wondering if there was a specific reason why I don't have an Heir ring?"

The moment the craftsgoblin spoke up, Harry had to struggle not to burst into laughter: their voice was high-pitched and child-like, completely inadequate for the highly formal and distant way the goblin expressed themselves. Despite the seriousness of their words, it was difficult not to be disturbed by the sound. Harry was slightly reminded of Umbridge's syrupy tones when she was bullying students.

"Lord James Potter and Lady Lily Potter contacted Gringotts on the matter of an Heir ring for their expected child in January 1980. Our submitted offer was accepted in April 1980. The artefact was retrieved on August, 1st 1980 by Sirius Black, following Heir Potter's birth, and returned by the same wizard on August, 4th 1980 for magical incompatibility. Numerous written exchanges and fittings followed, made more difficult by the impossibility for Lord and Lady Potter to bring Heir Potter to the bank. The Heir rejected all proposed material and spelling combinations. The death of Lord and Lady Potter and subsequent removal of their Heir from the Wizarding World discontinued our research before an effective solution could be found."

So his parents _had_ tried to get a ring made for him. Considering how important Draco seemed to believe those rings to be, Harry would have been slightly upset to learn that they had chosen not to.

"Is it really common for it to be so difficult to get an Heir ring to work?"

"Heir rings require on average two fittings for a perfect match. In the history of Gringotts, only two percents of the orders we have received have necessitated more than five fittings. No commission has ever been cancelled by our side. It is Gringotts policy to ensure the fulfilment of every purchase to the best of our capacity."

Fantastic! Another abnormality in Harry's life! Nevermind the prophecy, he had been a weirdo since his very birth, even by the Wizarding World standards... Still, his parents had still been searching for a ring for him when Voldemort murdered them, and from what the Craft-Master was saying, the goblins would not have stopped their efforts until they had found a solution if it hadn't been for that. So they might have had an idea of the problem.

"Hum, do you know why it was so hard for me? Or is there a way I can find out?"

An audible groan escaped from the Healer's throat, earning them a disapproving glare from the Chief -who was obviously also the leader of the group.

"Indeed, Mister Potter, there are methods we can use to pinpoint the reasons your magic was rejecting our artefacts. We were not able to do so when you were a child but we could carry the scans out today if you wish so."

After an uncertain glance at Draco, because the Healer goblin was glaring at him murderously, Harry nodded his agreement.

The Healer humphed resentfully and pushed himself away from the table so he could slip off his chair. His stomping away was surprisingly undignified for the standards of his species and drew a disapproving frown from Chief Nagnok. In contrast, the Craft-Master seemed utterly unfazed by the antics of their colleagues, they just sat there with a faraway look in their eyes. Harry hoped they would not be the one to scan him because frankly, they looked a bit out of it. Though he was not so sure he was comfortable with the irritable Healer either... The Chief was the most sympathetic of the lot but Harry was not sure what their role was apart from interacting with the humans and keeping the others in line, which looked to be a full-time job.

They waited in unpleasant silence for several minutes. Neither of the remaining goblins seemed interested in providing additional details to Harry. The teenager did have some questions but he could not collect enough energy to break the status quo. He was starting to feel the backlash from his earlier panic attack, his muscles growing extremely sore and his entire body heaved down by lethargy. The wooden table in front of him was starting to look inviting but he knew Draco would kick up a fuss if he tried to take a nap. Plus, he had no idea what they were waiting for or how long it would be. He wanted to go back to Hogwarts, curl up in Slytherin's study and pretend this visit had never happened while listening to Hermione and Draco bicker over the impact of blood purity on magical power. Anything to avoid thinking about the fact that a man he had worshipped had tacked a magic leach to his arm.

Not that he could get upset about it at the moment, the goblins' Calming Draught was still running strong in his veins. And he couldn't even get upset about the fact that he couldn't get upset, despite his shitty situation. What were they waiting for? Was it another trick, when they had given him an instruction and were expecting him to comply? Draco would probably have reacted to prompt him if that was the case. Or maybe they were waiting for the Healer to come back, not that Harry would mind if the rude goblin was gone for good, but surely the scans the Chief had mentioned had to be carried out by a medical professional?

Being bored when your body was yelling at you to lay down and sleep and you could not was not nice. Draco was not helping, sitting straight as a proper stuck-up Pureblood, looking as if he could not care less if they lingered for one minute or one hour. Harry had half a mind to poke him to see if it would break his perfect attitude. He did not, though, because his arm felt like it would fall off if he tried to move it.

He hoped the healing potion the Healer goblin had provided him with would take care of that, else he would have to keep relying on his friends' potions. Not that it was unsatisfying, as they had managed to find a pretty good one and they were both more than competent brewers. However, he would rather they spend their time doing something they loved rather than trying to support him. In his terrible fortune, he was lucky to have Hermione and Draco by his side, and, to a lesser extent, Luna and Neville, but he often felt guilty about how much they fit their lives around his... Though it was obviously Dumbledore's fault, for the most part. He'd get Hermione to send the twins a pouch of money with instruction to use it to make the old geezer's life a living hell. Maybe he'd get Salazar's input for ideas to include in the message, the portrait's original wizard was renowned for his cunning after all.

Seemingly out of nowhere, the two remaining goblins stood up, to Harry's quiet relief. They motioned for the humans to follow them out of the room. The group travelled a series of bland stone corridors until they reached a hall that looked very much like the waiting space of a doctor's office, except the identity of the few people sitting on the cushioned chairs was obscured by blurry wards. A similar ward sprang up around Draco and Harry when they stepped into the open room and followed them as they were directed to sit on some of the remaining chairs and wait for a goblin to come and fetch them. It was quite disturbing: they could see through their own ward perfectly but could feel its magic enveloping them, while they could neither see past nor feel others' protection.

They only had to wait a couple of minutes this time. The same Healer goblin as before appeared from one of the many doors adorning the back wall and signalled Harry in. When Draco made to follow his Gryffindor friend inside the new room, however, the ill-disposed medic barred his entrance and closed the door to its face. Harry spun in place to protest but the Healer pointed to a white examination bed -or at least that was what Harry thought it was because he could see no other use for the cushy table- and ordered:

"Lie down!"

Harry stood frozen for a second, unwilling to face the intimidating creature alone and disgruntled by the way they had treated his friend. Then he took a deep breath and reminded himself that he did not need anyone holding his hand to get through a mere Healer's appointment, no matter how scary the doctor in question was. Time to see how Gryffindor he really was.

The first hour of the examination proceeded normally. At least it proceeded in the way Harry imagined normal examinations did. He had never actually gotten any formal one, just the occasional check-ups by the Muggle school nurse or Madam Pomfrey. The short Healer poked and probed him in every possible spot of his body, grumbling all the while in their rough language, sometimes barking at Harry to move one way or another so he could access a specific body part. They collected blood and saliva and applied some contraption to his torso that reverberated the noises from inside Harry's body -heartbeats and the more embarrassing bowels movements. They looked down his throat, inside his ears, through his eyes with a weird miniature purple torch...

The exam took an unexpected turn when the goblin handed a flask of murky liquid to Harry and after the teenager drank it as instructed, his insides started glowing through his skin. He nearly jumped off the bed in shock when the orange glow appeared and had to quickly look away from his torso at the disturbing sight of his folded intestines. That was a vision he definitively could have done without...

A series of tasteless potions followed, each accompanied by a new colour emanating from his body, but Harry kept his eyes firmly on the ceiling for those. He had no desire to see his muscles or bones: the only times he had seen them before, he had been severely injured.

The results did not seem to satisfy the Healer as they moved to the back of the room and started rummaging in a steel cabinet. They extracted several stones from it, all small enough to fit in the palm of Harry's hand, as the goblin demonstrated by barking at him to hold his wand hand out and processing to place the stones on his extended palm for a few seconds each. The teenager was not sure what they had expected to happen, but the medic's expression turned sourer with each inconclusive test. Harry had not thought the goblin could look even more unfriendly than he had been since the beginning of his visit... It was a visibly angry goblin that opened the communication tube next to their desk and unleashed a vitriolic stream of Gobblebrock on whoever was listening at the other end.

Harry sat tight while they waited for whatever it was that they were waiting for. This day really felt like it would never end... If at least something good had come from it... But after the way the rest of his visit had gone, Harry was almost hoping for bad news, it would still be better than the bomb Charlie and then the goblins had dropped on him. He could still feel the distant thunder of his emotions behind the heavy fog of the Calming Draught. He would probably have a panic attack the moment the potion let up. Or maybe he would faint, or go into shock. He might also try to go on a crusade to murder Dumbledore but Hermione would most certainly stop him, if only to have the honour of shredding the former Headmaster to pieces herself. He hoped he would not hurt anyone if he got into a mindless rage when this umpteenth betrayal finally registered.

It was interesting how knowledge on the various human responses to trauma floated through his brain right now, a compilation of the few bribes he had caught from other people' conversations while at the Dursleys. None of it had helped him in any way during the past few months but he felt somewhat... validated knowing his erratic reactions to the recent events were rather normal, as far as psychology went. Of course, it was a bit ridiculous to deem anything about his life normal, considering Harry was probably the only teen in the history of humankind to have faced, and survived so many unlikely encounters. Take the box of vials the Healer was currently approaching with, for example: with his luck, one of them contained the demented spirit of some ancestor of his, or a usually benign venom that he would have an exceptional allergic reaction to. Or he would be changed into a snail, or it would suck his soul out of his body or melt his eyeballs. It might turn his hair into enraged cockroaches, or-

"Hand!"

His Healer cut impatiently through his lightly amused rumination on the multiple ways these tests could go wrong just because he, the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-Betrayed-And-Tortured-By-His-Light-Mentor, was involved. The diminutive being was scowling at him impatiently. They held a plain stone dagger in their hands and had set the box of vials down next to Harry on the examination bed.

The tired Gryffindor held his arm out tentatively, not too reassured by the sharpened weapon after the scenarios he had just run in his mind. Plus, he knew by now that he could not expect the goblin to be gentle.

Indeed, they pulled Harry's hand sharply over the crate and nicked his wrist with the knife. The stone tool must have been enchanted because the teenager felt nothing more than a sting at the cut. Vial after vial, the goblin tugged his arm this way and that so he could drop a precise amount of blood in each container, until they had done so for all but one flask in the crate. Not releasing their patient's hand, the Healer dipped a wooden stylet in that last bottle and deftly inscribed a couple of brownish symbols on his palm. Harry's skin tingled at the procedure, a combination of the wood roughly scratching his hand and of the magic contained in the drawn runes. A magic that was unmissable when the etching shivered and detached themselves from their support before fading out of sight as they floated away gently.

The thud of a door closing had Harry realise that the goblin Healer had left the room. He must be really out of it to have paid so little attention to his surroundings that the dour medic had been able to gather his gear and leave the room while he was still dazed by the shimmering signs.

Was he now supposed to join Draco outside or was he expected to wait, yet again, for a goblin?

Deciding that he would probably fall asleep if he sat there for who knew how long, he slid off the examination bed and tentatively made his way to the door. He had half expected it to be locked but it opened easily when he grabbed the handle, so he wasted no time in getting out and crossing the hallway to where Draco welcomed him with a concerned smile.

"Was there a problem? Healer Hogrod just stormed out looking like he was going to murder someone..."

The question drew a shrug from Harry.

"I'm not sure. They didn't actually explain anything to me. Just run a bunch of tests and took off. It didn't look like anything went wrong to me, but what would I know...?"

His fair-haired friend put a comforting hand on his forearm and squeezed.

"That Healer seems to be ill-natured and discourteous, even by goblins' standards. Let us not read too much into it. Come, I imagine either Bill or Chief Nagnok will be waiting for us in the transportation room we first arrived in, since no one is here to fetch us at the moment. They will know more."

Harry put his invisibility cloak back on and let himself be steered along the long stone corridors, trusting the Pureblood teenager to remember the way through the underground maze. Draco turned out to be partially right as Bill met them shortly before they reached their destination. The curse-breaker's rigid gait surprised Harry, he had never known the eldest Weasley child to be anything but laid-back. Even when the wizard had realised Dumbledore had probably forced a cursed artefact on a student, he had been serious but not closed off.

Once in the Apparition room, Bill held out his arm for Harry -or to any onlooker Draco- to grab on, without a single word.

* * *

Saturday, 9 November 1996, 3 pm  
Jean-Michel's Amicable Auberge, Hogsmeade, Scotland

Hermione was all over them as soon as they appeared in the cosy room they had rented in Hogsmeade, demanding to know the result of their trip.

"Calm down, Hermione, I don't even know all of it myself yet!"

His nervous friend breathed a sheepish apology out. Bill had taken the opportunity to pour himself a cup from the waiting teapot and was now watching the group of friends with a deep frown.

As soon as the teenagers settled down in the various seats, Harry safely sandwiched between Hermione and Draco, he gulped a mouthful of the scolding drink before relaying the information his goblin employers had entrusted him with.

"There is definitely something in your magic that rejects the magic of Heir rings, Harry, but Healer Hogrod has not been able to determine its exact nature. It appears to be... muted. What is rather worrying is that whatever is responsible for this dampening is not fed by your own power. An external influence, a potion, a spell or a combination of both, is heavily impacting your magical core."

"It's probably just the bracelet, isn't it? I mean, they said it was syphoning my magic..."

Harry nearly yelped in pain as his left hand was crushed by Hermione's. She did not appear to be taking the confirmation of Dumbledore's renewed betrayal very well, not that Harry could blame her for that, he had reacted strongly as well. However, he needed to focus on what Bill was explaining to him at the moment.

"I'm afraid not... Whatever it is, it has been running interference for at least a couple of years. And it's not common magic. The only reason the Healer detected it was because he ran pretty deep tests on you this afternoon."

Suddenly, everyone spoke over each other at once.

"Can they undo it?"

"Even though it is not connected to the bracelet, that does not rule out Dumbledore's _greater good_ meddling, does it?"

"Have they identified any detrimental effects?"

"Could it be the reason Wrackspurts are often following him around?"

All four students fired their question at the same time, giving Bill a hard time to understand what was on each of their mind.

"For now, there is nothing more I can tell you about the effects or the possibility to lift it. They need more research before they can determine if and how it should be removed. But, Harry, you can trust Healer Hogrod. She might have a stick up her ass, but she is damn good at what she does! Plus, from what I've heard, she takes unresolved mysteries as a personal insult, so she will not let the matter rest until she has reached a satisfactory diagnostic."

Harry was not sure how he felt about that. On the one hand, those news were not specifically _bad_ , especially compared to what he had previously learned on the leech curse sucking away at his magic. On the other hand, it was not exactly good either, and he had to rely on a grumpy goblin to find out whether this new development might turn out to be life-threatening. A she-goblin, not that it mattered one bit in itself, but despite not having been able to assign a gender to the rude character, he was still confused by the huge gap between her and his subconscious image of _females_. Well...

"I'm sorry, Luna, but I have no idea whether it has something to do with Wrackspurts, whatever those are. As for Dumbledore, Hermione, the goblins could not label the magical signature on the enchantment, which means it comes either from a potion or from a magical user who has never had any dealings with Gringotts. So no, it does not rule Dumbledore out but it probably won't be possible to identify the culprit. However, considering they _did_ confirm that that bracelet is cursed to leech on Harry's magic and transfer the power to Dumbledore, you'd be most right to be wary of him."

The heavy silence that followed the red-haired wizard's declaration mirrored the feelings of those in the room. Too many people had had the motivation to meddle with Harry's life and too few had refrained from it. It was useless to try and guess what and who was messing him up in this particular case. They could only wait for the goblins' diagnosis and hope for the best.

Hermione placed her arm around her battered friend's shoulder and pulled him against her side. Draco, inexperienced when it came to physical comfort but willing to try for the kind-hearted Gryffindor, tentatively put his hand on Harry's. Luna started humming a whimsical tune. If its notes seemed to ease a small fraction of the tension in her schoolmates, none of them paid it much mind, as they had long stopped wondering about her many quirks.

* * *

Saturday, 9 November 1996, 3 pm  
Lord Voldemort's study, Malfoy Manor

"Albus Dumbledore has started recruiting again, my Lord. He appears to be visiting numerous mudbl-Muggleborns and Squibs, all living on the marge or outright separate of our world. He wards their house while he is there so we have not been able to listen in on their discussion yet. According to Snape's intel, he has not spoken a word of it to his lackeys in that pitiful order of his, so we have to operate under the assumption that he is approaching them under a different motive. Should we ambush one of the trash to question them, sir?"

"No. Do not cue him on our awareness of his movements. His self-illusion of invulnerability is one of our biggest advantages for now. Continue to survey his actions and keep an eye out for links between those he visits."

The Dark Lord caressed the slick body of his reptilian familiar as he considered the question further. The reporting Death Eater stood still as a statue, aware that disturbing his liege's line of thoughts would result in very unpleasant consequences. Not as physically painful as the Cruciatus he would have been submitted to just a few months ago in the same circumstances, but far more destructive. The Dark Lord had taken to a new method a punishment since his grand summer announcement: he would use forceful Legimency to unearth the offender's deepest fears and either trap their minds into it for a time -a few minutes that never failed to feel like an eternity- or submit them to it in the real world. A tailored retribution that left its mark on their psyche rather than their body. Thankfully, their Master had also been less lavish in doling out sanctions, else the Death Eaters would most likely have been all driven out of their mind in the last few months.

The Lord's hand stilled on its path down Nagini's length and his crimes on eyes focused once again on his follower.

"In fact, have Borgin's group investigate each of them. I want to know when they went to school, where and with whom, their sources of income, the state of their relationship with every single member of their extended family... The old man may be a fool in many ways but he is not one to do things without a reason. I want to know what that is."

"Yes, my Lord. Thank you for your trust."

A bow, and the Death Eater gracefully exited the study.


	20. The letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to WeepingBadWolf for reviewing my work!

Sunday, 10 November 1996, 9 am

Salazar Slytherin's study, Chamber of Secrets, Hogwarts 

"... Slight hope that the magic interfering with Heir ring crafting will partially impede the leech once they get rid of the external block."

The Sixth-year trio was once again spending their morning hidden away in the quiet underground study of Salazar Slytherin and Hermione had just finished bringing the shrewd portrait up to speed.

Harry was lounging on the velvet bottle green couch Draco usually favoured, munching on bite-sized treacle tarts Dobby had baked especially for him. Each contained a few drops of Pepper-Up potion smuggled out of the Hospital Wing by the elf - a suggestion made by Salazar soon after they had met him. They had not dared to try it out at the time, with so little insight on the Gryffindor's permanently exhausted state, but now it was obvious that it couldn't hurt. Hermione and Draco, the unlikely knowledgeable duo, had puzzled out that the tiny sparks of boosting magic were too small and fast acting to be absorbed by the leech curse. So as long as Harry kept eating he was relatively awake and well. It was a short-term solution, of course, because he could not stomach a day-worth of tarts, but it served its purpose when he wanted to stay alert for a specific happening, like Salazar Slytherin's reaction to Hermione's explanations.

In his portrait, the ancient wizard was scratching his beard thoughtfully. He paused to peer down at them before pointing toward one of the smaller bookcases opposite his wall.

"You should find a few magic sharing rituals in _Of Blood and Bones_. Maybe you will uncover one to your liking."

Harry chuckled as Hermione rushed to pull said book off its shelf and immediately sat down at the low table with a sheaf of parchment. Draco followed her much more demurely and perched himself on the sofa's arm beside her as he had taken to doing when they were studying a common material. Something appeared to be bothering him but from the tensed lines of his brow, he was not planning to share it anytime soon. Harry was learning to read the minute tells of his new friend's expression, the ones that meant he was annoyed or happy behind his proper Pureblood mask, but also the more obvious ones that played on his face and body when he was letting his hair down in private. For since Draco had shared that his father was abusing him - not that he would ever say so in such a straightforward manner - he was not playing the perfect heir part in Harry's presence anymore. He had of course been stuck up the first few times Hermione had joined them but it was much better now. The two had learned to relax after many hours of bending their heads over the same books and squabbling over Latin translations or schools of thoughts.

And here they went again, bickering over the index and which chapter to start with. Hermione won the argument when Salazar sided with her from over them and they leafed back to the beginning of the volume and the introduction.

"This is one of the worst you have allowed us to touch so far, sir! It is barely English, I'm sure half of the words there wouldn't even be in the dictionary..."

"That'd be because you are using a subpar dictionary, Hermione. I assure you mine does define the words forsooth and hearken. Though I must admit the language is rather... challenging, overall."

"Rather challenging? Subpar dictionary? Stop being a pompous brat, Draco, just because you learned to read in Elizabethan genealogy records does not mean the rest of the world has been stuck in place. You have to admit that this is even worse than the half-Finnish garble we had to puzzle through in that essay on wizarding inherited illnesses."

"The author _was_ incorrigibly tedious, but the content of this book is worth it, I assure you. You young scoundrels should be honoured, not whining about!"

Harry chuckled discretely in his tenth treacle tart. He loved when Salazar went all bossy on his friends, it spurned them to show off to him and forced them to work together without bickering.

As if they had heard his thoughts, Hermione and Draco sat straighter and dived into the text again, slowly making way. From what Harry got of their mutterings, the book started off with a series of gory warnings to deter the reader from departing from its instructions. Thought he was not sure he heard correctly when Draco mentioned days-long complete necrosis of the live body while the mind was forcefully kept awake. This sounded like a deliberate punishment, not an accidental consequence. Maybe whoever had invented this specific ritual had made it more complicated than necessary on purpose, so it would kill whoever messed it up slowly and painfully. In any case, there was no way Harry was letting any of his friends attempt something like that, he would make sure whichever spell they picked - if they found a suitable one - was also safe. Or at least safer than his present situation. Which, admittedly, was far from ideal, but he liked his body parts whole and alive, thank you very much.

Lunchtime came quickly and the brains of the trio had barely reached the end of the introductory chapter when they had to separate to keep up appearances. They had to drag a reluctant Harry up (why couldn't he just stay and play riddles with Salazar since he had spent the last hours snacking on treacle tarts?), but they could not afford Moody's suspicion on the Gryffindor's whereabouts. Not to mention that they had no way to open the access to the Chamber without him. Draco had tried to learn and copy the Parseltongue password but all he had managed to obtain was a giggling fit from Harry when he had apparently hissed _be rotten_ instead of _open_.

The Great Hall was already brimming with students when Hermione and Harry stepped in. They spotted Harry's roommates at the centre of the Gryffindor table with a couple of empty spots next to them and quickly joined the group, just in time for the main dishes to appear on the wooden board.

"So, is he getting any better?"

They had decided that this week their alibi would be that Hermione was helping Harry train for his _special tutoring_ with Snape and Moody. Since the content of those lessons was supposed to be secret, no one would be surprised if neither of them was willing to elaborate on the specifics of their day.

"Don't be silly, of course, he is. You know I wouldn't let him waste my time."

Hermione gave Harry a wink that took the sting out of her words. Even if they both knew she was acting, it was safer to make it look like she had to reassure her friend she was only joking. All the Gryffindors were aware of how _intense_ she could sometimes get when it came to schoolwork.

Conversation over lunch had given Harry a vicious headache. With Hermione still not speaking to Ron, the hormone-driven teenager was now head-over-heels about Lavender and she was all he would talk about. Dean and Seamus obviously found it hilarious as they kept asking for more and more details on her many qualities. Their female housemates giggled endlessly just a few seats away, highly entertained by Ron making a fool of himself. Harry just wanted to disappear into the ground in sympathy shame for his once best friend. He also had a fleeting thought that he was very grateful to be living those awkward teenage years far away from Dudley and his gang.

All remaining concerns about Ron, their teasing housemates and what his life would have been without Hogwarts evaporated when Hermione and he walked into Myrtle's bathroom and found out Luna waiting for them.

"Luna?"

"Hi Harry," the calm girl answered with a smile in her voice.

"Hi. Err, not that I'm unhappy to see you, but what are you doing here?"

"I felt like you might need me this afternoon. Or maybe next week. It depends on how long Draco takes to shake his Wrackspurts off."

Three voices suddenly chimed in simultaneously.

"Do you know what we will need you for?"

"What Wrackspurts?"

"What is she doing here?"

The questions came from Hermione, Harry, and the just-arrived Draco.

Luna, true to herself, simply smiled brightly at them and gestured to the sink that hid the entrance to the Chamber. Knowing he would not get any additional information from his friend, at least no useful one, and not seeing any reason not to let her join them, Harry shrugged and moved to open the passageway, leaving Draco and Hermione frowning in frustration.

Strangely, Luna's addition to their small group was not commented on by Slytherin. The usually critical portrait merely took one look at the blond Ravenclaw and nodded to her. Harry was tempted to call him out on his lack of caustic remark but thought better of it: he stood no chance at all in a battle of wits and tongues against the Founder.

Draco and Hermione immediately settled back into their reading. They offered for Luna to join them but she declined, preferring to sit on the floor next to Harry. She glanced at the essay he was working on, Potions, and dug out her own work. She was one year behind them but according to Ginny she was regularly top of her class, except it was never in the same subject and it never lasted more than a month. Still, it appeared her erratic grades were more the result of the insertion of her personal beliefs into her homework than of gaps in her knowledge. Somehow, Harry doubted Professors Snape or McGonagall took kindly to the mention of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks in between explanations on potion ingredients or transfiguration laws. They settled into companionable quiet while the two researchers of the group muddled their way through the old text, making notes now and then but mostly complaining about the ridiculous prerequisites of the mentioned rituals. Some asked for specific astronomic configurations, others for the sacrifice of a dozen newborns. Maybe those gory fairy-tales writers were not so out of mind then. In any case, there was no need for consideration of whether they were willing to bleed baby goats out on the new moon as none of the rites they had read about until that point would result in something that could help Harry with his leaching problem. Though Draco had jokingly pointed out they could always try the _ridding of furry parasites_ rune array if all else failed.

* * *

Sunday, 17 November 1996, 1 pm

Great Hall, Hogwarts

The week had gone in much the same fashion than the previous ones: struggling to stay awake during classes, not managing any practical work, napping in the Infirmary after he had required another dose of core-strengthener, being bullied by Moody and not-so-bullied by Snape.

He had spent a surprisingly high amount of time with Luna as Hermione snuck into the Chamber to read. He had even shocked himself with a fleeting thought that she was beautiful both on the inside and the outside. He had not had that kind of attraction to anyone since Cho and he was not sure what to do with it. By now, he was rather confident he did not want to _date_ her, nor, since apparently, it was on the mind of all boys his age, have _sex_ with her. Eurgh. Still, he enjoyed her company in a way he did not that of Hermione or Draco, and it confused him. So here he was trying to convince himself to ignore whatever was happening in his brain, as he stood up from Gryffindor table and made his way to the door. Luna was probably already waiting for them in Myrtle's bathroom as she had left a few minutes prior, as had Draco.

"Mister Potter!"

He turned to face the voice calling for him. Professor McGonagall was striding across the Hall toward him and her expression was not reassuring in the least. Surely if word of his trip to Gringotts had gone out, he would have been in trouble before, would he not? And the Headmistress would not be singling him out, she would have rounded up Draco and maybe Hermione and Luna to holler at them.

"If you would please join me for a moment, Mister Potter, I have something I need to discuss with you."

Not very informative, she was... He threw a glance at Hermione, who shrugged. She would pass the word to Luna and Draco and they would decide whether to wait for him or disband for the day. But he did not want the afternoon to be wasted as far as their research went, he was truly hoping a solution would come forward! He needed to find an excuse to go open the entrance to the Chamber before following McGonagall. Something to buy him some time... There, in the Transfiguration professor's back, Neville was raising his book bag as if reminding him of something.

"Of course, professor. Can I just go to the Tower quickly before that, I promised Neville my Defense notes for the afternoon?"

She cast an annoyed look at said Gryffindor but nodded briskly.

"Very well, I will be waiting for you in my office. Be quick, please."

Thanking her, Harry walked hurriedly to the door and broke into a run as soon as he was out of the Great Hall. As long as the stairs cooperated, he should be able to make a detour by the Second Floor without her noticing.

He made it on time -at least he hoped he was on time- to the Headmistress' office, where the gargoyle stepped aside on his knocking on it. Draco and Hermione were underground in Salazar's study room and Luna had gone to the Library to wait for him. Depending on the time it took for him to solve whatever was raising McGonagall's hackles, they would either join the researching pair or find them again at dinner.

Once again, Harry had the displeasure to find his Defense and Potion professors, as well as his social services guardian, present in the circular room. At least this time there was no Dumbledore and no Minister.

"Mister Potter, sit down, please."

Sighing internally, he obeyed. He could already feel the fatigue seeping in again, as it would not be polite to munch on his bite-sized tarts their entire discussion.

"You have received a worrying correspondence this morning. We have been able to confirm that it came from Gringotts and carried no magic of nefarious intent but the parchment is blank. Would you have any idea why, Mister Potter?"

Harry felt his eyebrows rise under his bangs: they read his post now?

His _guardian_ must have felt his surprise and contempt at the idea because she intervened to point out that as a minor, his financial affairs were to be managed by his guardian and that was why they had opened the letter. Apparently, the fact that they had not been able to read it despite being his official legal representative was abnormal.

In all likelihood, the goblins had written to him about his incompatible Heir ring and had had the presence of mind of making it so no one would be able to read the letter, less it gave away his little trip. Which meant if he read it now, he would have to find a lie to feed the adults about its content.

* * *

Sunday, 17 November 1996, 2 pm

Salazar Slytherin's study, Chamber of Secrets, Hogwarts

 "This one!"

"Harry is a single child, Draco, I'm pretty sure most of the trouble that keeps piling up on him would have been avoided if he had had siblings..."

"No, but read the note! He doesn't need to have siblings _before_ the ritual."

Silence filled the study as Hermione read the note Draco was excitedly pointing to. Yes, it could work. If they found enough common ground, one of them should be able to share their magic with Harry. Now the question was: which one of them would do it?

* * *

Sunday, 17 November 1996, 2 pm

Headmistress's Office, Hogwarts

"Mister Potter,

It is our duty to inform you that an unknown individual has attempted to unlawfully access your assets on Saturday, 16 November 1996. Considering the sensitivity of this information, its full details will be disclosed to you at your next visit to Gringotts. In the meantime please be assured we are doing our utmost to identify the guilty party.

Salutations, etcetera, etcetera..."

Harry thought he had done a pretty good job of improvising the strict style of the goblins but the adults around him did not seem convinced. However, he was the only one to be able to read the letter, and unless the outrightly called him a liar, they would have to pretend they believed him. That would probably not help his case with Moody, but he did not have much of a choice. What was actually in the missive was _not_ something he was willing to disclose to anyone present.

For once, his eternal state of fatigue was a good thing: it made it all the easier for him to conceal his actual feelings regarding what he had just read. His gut was knotting and burning while he had to maintain an innocent surprised facade for the traitors surrounding him. He felt sicker by the minute and they debated on and on over the imaginary content of the letter. Should they confront the goblins with their unusually secret ways or should they pretend to remain ignorant? Should they up the security around Harry -was it even possible while he stayed in school? or should they assume it was just a freak accident not targetting him in particular? By the time they let him out, wanting privacy to continue to discuss his personal life, Harry was grinding his teeth and shaking lightly from head to toes.

He ran almost all the way to the Chamber, having to stop twice after stairs made him dizzy, and burst into the study as if his life depended on it. For all he knew, it might...

Hermione and Draco started from where they had been taking abundant notes from their current read and Salazar Slytherin glared at him reprobately but Harry could not care less at the moment.

"Harry?"

"Got... got the ans...answer from them... goblins."

"Oh. Come on, sit down, you look like you are ready to keel over."

Hermione guided her friend to the sofa and push him down while Draco put the old tome on the side, his expression serious.

"Where is it?"

"Couldn't keep it... Had to make the Headmistress... and the social worker and stuff... that the Goblins were... writing about someone trying to steal my money. 'pparently they've been reading my post!"

Draco frowned at that.

"They should only be allowed to read it if you are there. But let us ignore that for the moment, can you tell us what it said?"

Drawing a long breath, Harry steeled himself to put into oral words the life-changing news he had just learned:

"They managed to find why I rejected the Heir ring when I was a newborn. Turns out, according to them, I'm not human."

His voice rose higher on that last declaration, belying the mounting hysteria he felt inside. Not human. How freakish was that? Skeeter would have a field trip when she got wind of it.

He realised he had closed his eyes when he felt a hand settle on his leg and give a slight press. Draco had joined him on the sofa, trying to provide some reassurance. Their bushy-haired friend was still frozen in front of Harry, obviously struggling just as much to process the news.

"Did they give you more information Harry? Considering I am certain you are neither a Veela nor a vampire or a werewolf and those are the only humanoids I know of, they must have provided details?"

"Yes, yes. They wrote that I'm supposed to be a demon. But because of the blocks over me -they still can't tell who did it by the way, only that they are about half a dozen years old. Anyway, the blocks stopped me from maturing as a demon at puberty. But it must be a bunch of crap, right? Since when are goblins Christians? And, and, and, how the hell can I be a demon!?"

This time it was Draco's turn to be stricken speechless, while Hermione appeared to have somewhat recovered because she was mumbling under her breath about DNA tests and the concept of species. Harry had started shaking again, the tiredness making him even more sensitive to the violent emotions coursing through him. He had had his share of revelations in his life, but he had never thought one would question his very _humanity_. At least not literally, but Skeeter and her fans were certainly not above calling his morals into question. It was completely impossible, but despite the way his brain refused to acknowledge the goblins' message, he could not imagine it to be a practical joke on their part. Be it not for the fact that Moody had been unable to counter-charm the secrecy spell on the letter, he would have definitively been on his way to give Fred and George a piece of his mind. The fact was, however, that this letter had indeed been, in all likelihood, written by a Gringott's representative and they did not do jokes.

He brought his fist to his mouth to bite to stop himself from howling in upset. Why did those things keep happening to him! Draco pulled his hand off and drew him into a hug (since when had Draco been so touchy-feely?), whispering nonsense about how they would figure it out and he did not have to be alone in this. It was nice and settled Harry's nerves a tiny bit but he still felt like he was going to split in two from the sheer pressure of his emotions.

"Children."

Harry pulled away from Draco's embrace to peer at Slytherin's portrait.

"I infer from your panic that demons are not walking this earth alongside humans anymore. Do you know nothing of them?"

Hermione shook her head at the question, but Harry and Draco both offered their meagre knowledge of the question.

"They are fallen angels that live in Hell and torture souls? At least according to Christian people, I think..."

"They are creatures of the legend, bed-side stories my Mother used to tell me when I was a child. Are you saying they used to be common?"

"I am unfamiliar with angels but demons did not fall from anywhere. As for their prevalence, I would say common might be too strong a word, but they were well-known. Many a Muggle people revered them in exchange for protection and it was a blessing of Magic for a community to be graced with the presence of a demons cove. Like many hybrids, they were welcomed in the Wizarding world but mostly prefered to keep to their own. It is not impossible you simply do not know of them because their insular tendencies grew even more preponderant. Or you might know some but think of them as Animagi."

"Hybrids? You mean, werewolves?"

"Werewolves, demons, merfolks, reapers, dwarves, sphinxes, fauns, dryads, shifters... Any species evolved from the cross of two other species."

"Dwarves? What species are dwarves evolved from?"

"Humans and goblins, of course, what do they teach you youngsters these days?"

"I didn't even know dwarves existed, to be honest."

Hermione nodded vigorously to Draco's admission. Harry was only half following their discussion, taken as his was by Salazar's confirmation of the existence of demons. He did not have the thrust for knowledge of his friends in the best scenario, and this was so far from said best scenario...

"Who do you think mines precious metals if not dwarves? No wizard ever survived with their sanity in the depth of the enchanted mountains..."

"Err..."

"To come back to demons, they are hybrids between wizards and one of the magical Carnivora species. Most individuals retain their magical capabilities from one side or the other, though there are exceptions. They have two forms and can shift seamlessly between them. They usually are peaceful creatures as they have empathic gifts. It is difficult to be cruel when you experience the result of your own cruelty. Now, the information might be slightly outdated, but I believe the mahogany case over there contains parchments on the main species of hybrids and humanoids - species evolved purely from ancient human individuals. Maybe you would like to read the one on demons, young Potter?"

Harry was not so sure he wanted to, anything not to make his ordeal more real, but he could feel Hermione vibrating with excitement at his side. Plus, maybe he could find proof that he was not a demon. After all, he did not have a second _Carnivora_ (did that mean carnivorous?) shape, so maybe the goblins had gotten it wrong. He finally nodded and his Gryffindor friend jumped to fetch the coffret. Draco, as if reading his mind, prefered to ask the mature portrait more questions.

"No offence, sir, but should Harry not have realised he had an alternate form by now if he was a demon? From what you are saying, it sounds like it is part of them, not a learnt behaviour."

"It indeed is. However, it is not impossible to repress one main species' expression. Most magical creatures actually carry the magical imprint of different species, only it is not sufficient for it to become dominant. For example, in Harry's case, it is probable that both his parents carried a strong proportion of demon magic, less than their wizard magic, but enough to birth a mostly demon child. If this dominant magic is suppressed, another one will take its place. However, as long as it is repressed and not eliminated -which is not possible without killing the individual- the person will remain, in essence, what they were supposed to be. It can create conflicts inside their magic, which is why, in my time, it was highly illegal."

"So what you are saying is that I am a wizard at the moment because some magic is stopping the demon magic inside me, but I will become a demon if I get it removed?"

"Simply put, yes."

Harry smiled, his first true smile of the day.

"Then it's alright, I can just ignore it and stay a wizard, right? You said it might cause conflicts inside my magic but I've never had any problem before Dumbledore interfered, so I should be ok once I remove that bracelet, shouldn't I?"

"I would advise against that path, child. You might not feel the strain because you were too young to remember otherwise, but it is there. I fear that if you ignore the problem you will die much sooner than is your destiny. Even if your magic does not kill you when if finally rebels against the seals, you will most likely lose all of your power, become a Squib."

"It doesn't sound so bad, Harry, really... From what is written there, there wouldn't be much different for you. You'd get an animal form, like an Animagus, expect you'd be more in tune with it, and you might have a few additional abilities. Plus, demons are apparently quite protective of each other, so you might gain so allies in the process if there are other alive."

Harry turned his head to see Hermione engrossed with the parchment detailing demons. He rolled her eyes: of course, she had not been able to wait until he had finished talking with Slytherin before diving into this new and exciting - for her - material.

"Speak about yourself: how would you like suddenly discovering you're not human? And what if I'm a really stupid animal, like a rooster or something? Would you really like to learn that you are really half-rooster, eh!?"

Slytherin's portrait gave a completely out-of-place chuckle at that.

"Fear not, young Gryffindor, there is no risk of you being revealed as _half-rooster_ , for demons can only be of one of the Carnivora species. Magical Carnivora species. The meeker candidate in existence in my time was a chameleon forest ferret. Vicious little beasts they were, only prayed on other magical creatures and loved to suck their victims dry of their blood."

At that Harry paled even more, if possible. All things considered, he would rather be a plain rooster than a glorified ferret-vampire. However, the door opened before he was able to carry on with his complaints. Luna walked in, entirely too relaxed for someone who had just somehow overcome a security measure only answering to two live wizards -or one wizard and a part-time demon if the goblins were to be believed. Harry and Draco stared at her as if she was an apparition until the girl noticed their looks -surprisingly- and airily explained that she had just reproduced the noise Harry made when he opened the door. Hermione scoffed but did not deign to raise her nose from the scroll she had in her hands.

Harry threw a glance at the writing, trying to decipher what she found so enthralling. Physiological mechanisms of the demon form-shifting. Eurgh, boring. Who cared how it happened, when it happened to him? Again? Why, for once, was it not Hermione, or Draco, or Luna, or even Ron, that ended up being the weird one out? Though Luna was pretty bizarre on her own, maybe she was quite right as she was. Still, if he had had to bet on which one of his group of friends was not human, he would have picked Luna. She had that ethereal sense that drew him to her. Not like Veelas, not a physical, lusty attraction, but more of a magical lure. Like a song he knew from somewhere but could not quite pinpoint.

"Wouldn't lifting the barriers now cause a bigger strain though? I imagine being forced to change species when you have matured nearly to adulthood would be dangerous."

Harry realised that - caught by his ruminations about Luna - he had forgotten the problem at hand. The last question had been asked by Draco, who was eying the box of parchments of Hermione's lap suspiciously.

Salazar's portrait scratched his beard while pondering his answer. "I was never a Healer, but I think if the change is too important for his body to handle his magic will not force it. It could happen that after lifting the seals you realise that your magic is more wizard than demon by now anyway, though I would not bet my wand on that."

Harry humphed, disappointed. He should have known Fate would not give him an easy out from this last development. He refused to wallow in the unfairness though, he was too tired for that, bone-deep tired, as he was crushing from the adrenaline-high offset by the reading of Gringotts letter. He grabbed a treacle tart to munch on but it did not make a noticeable difference. All his energy had been sapped by this last revelation and the facade he had had to maintain for the adults in the Headmistress's office. Sighing, he went lax against the backrest of the sofa and closed his eyes. Life would wait until after he had napped...

* * *

Sunday, 17 November 1996, 3 pm

Slytherin's study, Hogwarts

Draco watched as Harry fell asleep in the middle of their conversation with Professor Slytherin. Nevermind him being potentially non-human, they had to quickly resolve this cursed bracelet issue or they would have to watch their friend wither away.

Leaving Hermione to the parchments on various creatures in the box Salazar's portrait had pointed to them, Draco moved back to the book they had been perusing before Harry's rushed entrance. He truly believed they had found a loophole in the curse, or rather a way to limit its inconvenience to Harry. The issue was the cost of it: the ritual in question required something of the ones to perform it in order to work, something Draco was not sure he was willing to give. Namely, his complete honesty over his feelings for his dark-haired friend.

If he pushed for Hermione to do the ritual alone it would be obvious that he was hiding something important and Harry's trust in him would probably not recover from the blow. Especially after he had confided in them about his real species, something that could probably get him killed if revealed to the public -Draco made a note to look for references to demons and their legal status in the Malfoy Manor library as soon as he went home for Christmas.

If, on the other hand, he agreed to take part in the spellwork, Draco would have no choice but to reveal the mission the Dark Lord had entrusted him with. He doubted Harry and Hermione would ever believe in any word coming out of his mouth after that. It probably did not matter that Draco had been working for himself rather than the Dark Lord for quite a long time now when it came to Harry, he was still guilty of basing their friendship on false pretences. The fact that he kept reporting to Lord Voldemort even now would not endear him to his friends either. His only hope for redemption was that his mission had not been to hurt Potter, but to attempt to sway him to their side. Was it still his side, though? Could he truly say he would stand aside and do nothing were the Dark Lord to decide Harry's usefulness had run its course? He wanted to claim that he would defend his friend to his dying breath, but the truth was that he was a coward. It was even a joke in the Slytherin common room that he would rather sell mother and father than risk his own skin. Though they did not know he would gladly sell his father for much less than that, he had always been careful to maintain the varnish of a perfect aristocratic family among his bloodthirsty peers.

His hand caressed the old volume. Maybe it was the opportunity to prove himself that he was different, that he could be counted on when it mattered... Once the truth was out, it would be Harry's decision to push him away, to reject his offer and ask Hermione's alone to perform the ritual with him. For the Gryffindor would, without doubt, who would want to be bound in such a way to a double-faced traitor?

He would be banned from their little sessions in Slytherin's study, their islands of peace in the troubled water of the war. He would keep the secret, of course, no need to betray Harry more than he already had. He hoped that he would be trusted at least in that, that his Gryffindor friends would not force themselves to pretend to enjoy his presence anymore out of pure self-preservation. It was not their type to do so, but Harry was so taxed Draco would not be surprised if he chose a weaker path for once. At least he could count on Hermione to speak her mind: from what he knew of her, she was too honest, incapable of lying.

In his thoughts, Draco had moved his gaze from the age-wrought pages on his knees to hover blankly over the room. His eyes fell on Luna Lovegood, Harry's quirky Ravenclaw friend, who was staring right back at him. She nodded with a smile and stood to take the book from his hands. Before he could protest the interruption, she had her index to her lips and was indicating Hermione -mumbling to herself about the link between shifters and Animagi- with her head. Lovegood set the book down on the coffee table and with a knowing look to Slytherin's portrait, dragged him outside the room.

"You shouldn't worry so much. Harry will listen to you, you know. There isn't a soul more forgiving than his."

The Ravenclaw emphasised her words by empathic pats on his shoulder before retreating

Draco was left scowling at the closed door in front of him: what did she think she knew about him for her to say this?

* * *

Sunday, 17 November 1996, 5 pm

Lord Voldemort's study, Malfoy Manor 

Finally, finally, Lord Voldemort had managed to resist the pull of Potter's dreams for an entire nap. The mind tug had grown lighter during the last two weeks, enabling the older wizard to forcefully remain in his own body for longer and longer periods between the moment he felt his nemesis fall asleep and the time he was finally sucked into Potter's mindscape.

It had taken him more than a month to get to this point, several weeks of making sure he was alone during the night and any free time Potter might have, of working around the cursed teenager's timetable. He had had to ask Snape for help in keeping track of the boy so that he knew to amend his own schedule if Potter somehow ended up in the Hospital Wing during the day. His nemesis did not have a single idea of how many headaches he had caused him, without even trying.

But no matter, the Dark Lord hoped he would soon be able to entirely ignore the call of Potter's dreamscape and go back to normal. If attempting to take over the British wizarding world could be counted as _normal_.

For now, he still had to focus his full attention on fighting the pull but he hoped the rapid progression of the last few days would continue in the same vein. With some luck, he would even be able to get a full night of natural sleep before Christmas.

Confident Potter would not fall back asleep again so close to dinner time, Lord Voldemort grabbed the forgotten paper on the desk and called for Lucius. He had time for a meeting with the Carrows, whom he had put in charge of reforming the judiciary system. The whole thing was a sham, as shown by the number of his followers who had escaped retribution with not even a slap on the wrist after his untimely demise in the hands of baby Potter. A strong nation needed to rest on sturdy foundations, hence the complete makeover of British Wizarding institutions. The Carrows, though, needed to be monitored closely: they had a cruelty to them that did not fit the Dark Lord's renewed vision for society. Plus, he had them investigate Wizarding and Muggle systems alike in foreign countries and therefore had to constantly remind them not to terrorise their interlocutors. It was only worth the pain because the pair had a fantastic memory and an uncanny ability to link information from different sources. If not for the penchant for torture and blood, they would have made two excellent Heads of Department once he overtook the Ministry. As it was he would have to keep them in the shadows and tightly leashed.

As Lucius grovelled his way into the room, the Dark Lord had a fleeting thought that he would miss the freshening presence of dream-Harry in his life, and the camaraderie they shared when he was Azraël, surrounded only by sycophants as he was...


End file.
